


My Love is a Fortress (My Love is a Louvre)

by zimriya



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cliffhangers, Comic Book Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Suspense, kind of an X-Men AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry likes to think he’s juggling the whole part-time uni student, part-time superhero thing rather well, strictly speaking, because despite the fact that he has absolutely no social life outside of uni lectures and clandestine, midnight crime fighting, at least no one’s gone and died on his watch. Yet.  </p><p>A Superhero AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Issue 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song Fists Up by The Blow which is ~~painful~~ AWESOME .  
>  Betaed by skittles aka Marta and also Vic and Ryssa. IT TAKES A TEAM. Britpicked by Jess. MY TEAM IS BEST TEAM. 
> 
> All other mistakes are my own.

**Issue 1**

\--

**X-Factor Mansion: July 2010**

\--

Louis is usually much better about having his gloves on him at all times. He really can’t afford not to be, not if he doesn’t want to end up in Professor Cowell’s office again, awkwardly explaining why half the mansion is non-existent due to his misuse of someone else’s powers. Not that Louis’ ever cared all that much for the rules, but after that incident in Year Twelve where he’d grabbed hold of Zayn’s bare arm and nearly destroyed the greenhouse with the breath in his lungs, he’s basically slept in the things. (Who knew sound waves were that powerful?--Certainly not Louis!) So, of course, the first day of classes finds Louis trapped in the loo watching his beloved gloves as they float around in the toilet bowl.

“Lovely,” he says, sighing. “This is wonderful.” Louis’ got a lesson with Professor Grimshaw next as well, and while that does mean he doesn’t have to do anything beyond stare at a blackboard and try not to think homicidal thoughts at the man, it also means that Professor Grimshaw is going to be privy to just how panicked Louis gets every time he get within reach of a student. “Bloody fucking wonderful,” Louis mutters.

He’s just stepped out of the cubicle to see if he can convince someone to come help him fish his gloves out of the toilet, when a guy he’s never seen before comes stumbling past him and nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Oops,” says the kid, grabbing Louis’s bare arm to prevent him from falling flat on his face. He’s definitely new to the mansion, since Louis prides himself on knowing everyone at the school (perks of being in Year Thirteen and the boss of everyone and having a best mate who can scramble your brains by whispering ‘boo’ at you). He’s also got green eyes, a head full of curls, and doesn’t appear to have any sort of dangerous and life threatening power.

Maybe Louis’ actually gotten lucky, for one, and the kid has something mundane, like the ability to converse with lizards, because Louis could take the parseltongue jokes if it meant he wouldn’t have to blow up a building.

“Oh gosh--I’m so sorry,” continues the new kid, blushing a little now. He doesn’t let go of Louis’ arm, but Louis is slightly high off the first skin-to-skin contact he’s had since his powers manifested. “You’re not a telepath, or anything, because I’m usually better about it and people tend to find it strange when they go to shake my hand and their powers wink out of existence--“

“Hi,” Louis interrupts, a little breathlessly. The new kid negates powers. Louis cannot _believe_ his luck. “I’m Louis.”

The guy blinks at him, no longer blushing. He looks confused. “Harry,” he says eventually. “You’re not annoyed?”

Louis slides his hand down so that he can hold Harry’s , giving his fingers a squeeze. “Nah,” he says, swallowing. “I, um, kind of absorb powers.” He shrugs, as if just the other day he hadn’t nearly ran into Stan in the showers and had a minor breakdown about the possibility of nearly draining one of his oldest friends to the point where they were comatose and needed a hospital. “Which is a bit...inconvenient, but obviously not a problem with you.”

Harry still looks a little uncertain, so Louis tightens his grip on the guy’s hand and smiles.

“It’s bloody brilliant, innit?” he says, nodding towards their hands.

Harry grips his hand right back. “You think so?” he manages.

Louis nods very seriously. “It’s not every day you meet someone and _don’t_ blow up a building,” he explains, grinning.

Harry smiles back at him, before pausing. “Hang on--has that happened to you?”

Louis drags him out of the loo before he can finish asking, gloves forgotten. “Now, come on, Harold, none of that,” he says. “You're new yeah? Lemme show you around.”

“Um, actually, I do have to have a wee, that’s sort of why I was in the loo in the first place--” protests Harry, and Louis stops abruptly.

Harry goes crashing into his back. “Sorry,” he says.

Louis turns to face him, apologetic. “No, I’m sorry.”

He lets go of Harry’s hand, steps away, and tries not to look too upset about the fact that he's no longer touching someone else’s skin. Their bare skin. Harry’s bare skin. Louis hopes he’s got class with Professor Grimshaw as well.

Harry just keeps looking back at him, blinking. “Well?” he says eventually. “Are you coming?”

“What, with you to the loo?” Louis sputters, overwhelmed with how much he wants to cuddle Harry and never let him go. “Why, Harry--”

“Styles,” Harry finishes, flushing a little again.

“Styles,” Louis echoes. “I never.”

Harry reaches up with one hand to rub at the back of his neck. “You don’t _have_ to come with,” he mumbles.

And Louis would take the piss out of  him, because they’ve only just met and what kind of person asks someone they’ve just met to accompany them to the loo, honestly, but when Harry reaches out almost unconsciously to tangle their fingers together again on their way back, he lets him without comment.

\--

**London: Present Day**

\--

Harry’s dead asleep when the super-secret phone they’ve got wired into the superhero network goes off. Technically speaking, it’s not a superhero network--it’s just a line of communication that Professor Cowell establishes with all of his former and current students. Niall and Harry aren’t former students, but they’re in their last year at the school, so not only are they allowed to live somewhere other than the X-Factor mansion, but they’re also given last call for lesser missions. It’s nice, because it gives Harry a lot more practice on his powers (Professor Teasdale’s had him started on trying to affect entire groups of people as opposed to just whomever he’s touching). It also means that between revising and exams and saving the world, Harry is exhausted.

So he sleeps through the alarm.

Niall’s got the thing set to the most ridiculous ringtone he could find, which sounds like a cross between a whale’s mating call and a dying animal, but Harry doesn’t do more than groan a little and roll over.

“Haz.”

So he’s not quite slept through the alarm, only he’d been having a good dream, he thinks, and his dick feels thick against his thigh and he’d really like to keep sleeping. They’re the last call, anyway, so probably Grimmy will take it. Or Professor Flack. Harry likes Professor Flack--she’d let him sleep in.

Niall doesn’t appear to agree. “Harry Styles,” he says, before he slaps Harry across the face.

Harry jolts, erection soundly gone, and ends up reaching across the bed without meaning to. It’s empty, because it’s a double and it’s just Harry’s and they moved flats two years ago but Harry’s still reaching for something that’s not there. He doesn’t really want to think about that, though, so he settles for rolling to face the ceiling. “Ow,” he says. “Niall.”

“Morning, sleepy head,” Niall says, brightly, through a mouthful of waffle, like he hasn’t just smacked Harry. “Come on--we’ve got a thing.”

Harry sighs. “You couldn’t have just jumpstarted me awake?” he says, waving his fingers around in an exaggerated mimic of Niall’s go-to hand gesture. His flatmate hasn’t done that for years, preferring to rest his chin in his hands when he’s digging through people’s brains and making them feel things, but he still rises to the bait.

“Oh, piss off,” Niall says, dumping a plate of waffles on Harry’s chest. “I grew out of that.” Niall doesn’t mention who was the first person to mock him for the weird hand gesture, but it goes unspoken, and ruins Harry’s appetite.  “Also, couldn’t really.”

Now that he thinks about it, Harry doesn’t feel his usual sleepy-pleased around Niall. Niall tells him he doesn’t do it on purpose, because he likes Harry and people Niall likes tend to always feel happy and wonderful in his presence (“my brain wants you to be happy, is all,” Niall likes to say). Harry’s gotten quite a bit better at not winking people’s powers out of existence by merely existing, because while it’s useful in a fight to render your opponents incapable of using their superhuman gifts, it’s less so if you’re doing the same to your superhuman allies. When he’s asleep, however, everything is fair game.

Harry doesn’t really feel like letting Niall in on his emotions this morning, however, so he goes about pulling on clean boxers without lifting the veil that prevents Niall from using his powers.

His flatmate doesn’t comment; Harry loves him dearly.

“Anyway, I don’t think it’s a big thing,” Niall continues blithely, still chewing the waffles. “These are really good--do you think we can buy more of the mix when we’re out?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you just ask Jesy to get you some?” he asks, scratching idly at the butterfly tattoo he’s got on his stomach. It’s one of the newer ones, and he wouldn’t have even gotten it if they hadn’t been in the middle of trashing the poor man’s tattoo parlor while saving the world. Also, the looping script above it had been annoyingly familiar. And there goes the rest of Harry’s appetite. He gives up on moping around in his own brain, making a conscious effort to give Niall free reign to sooth the remainder of his dream away.

“Because she’ll hit me,” Niall answers him. Harry’s not sure if he’s just ignoring the fact that Harry is a festering pile of sadness, or if he’s too good a friend to mention it. “And then she’ll go run around the world a few times so that she can turn back time and hit me again.”

“Pretty sure that just happens in comics, Ni,” Harry points, out, somewhat amused. “But I’ll be sure to tell Jes you think she’s Superman.”

“Super smokin hot in the X-Factor suit, you mean,” says Niall, finishing his waffle. He winces. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Harry rolls his eyes again and finishes doing up his jeans. “Of course, Niall,” he says, wandering out of his bedroom and towards the kitchen.  “But only because it’d be too much work to train a new partner.”

Niall follows after him, happy mood seeping out into the corners of Harry’s awareness. “Well, you know Taylor would kill to be your go to partner,” he says, slyly. “Don’t think I didn’t miss the way she was looking at you last meeting.”

Harry ignores him in favor of helping himself to his own plate of waffles. “Are you sure you’re not misremembering things?” he says. “You might still be recovering from your food coma.”

Niall grabs a waffle off Harry’s plate and takes a bite. “I’ve got a killer metabolism,” he says, grinning around his mouthful. “And besides, the girl levitates like three feet every time you so much as smile at her. I’d have to be _dead_ not to notice.”

Harry swallows around his mouthful, stomach suddenly in awkward knots. “I think you mean three inches, Niall,” he says. “Because three feet would be pretty noticeable.” The thoughts whirring around in his head get worse, and he’s grateful for Niall, who winces like he’s got a headache, and very subtly pushes the angry, guilty feelings out of the kitchen.

“Do you give them to other people?” Harry asks, somewhat rhetorically, thinking of the poor people who live in the flat below them. “Or do you just will them into nonexistence?”

“Well, I know a guy who’s a therapist,” Niall says, deadpan. “And he’s agreed to give me sixty percent of the cut if I accidentally give everyone who lives around us terrible nightmares.”

Harry glares at him.

“What?” Niall lifts his fork and brandishes it like a weapon.

“Niall,” Harry growls, shaking his head.

“Oh, come off it.” Assured that he’s not going to his death, Niall keeps eating. “I just sort of, wink them out of existence,” he explains. “I dunno how to explain it. It’s not like I’m removing your feelings, H. I’m just making them happier.”

Harry takes a bite of his own waffles and swallows. “Creepy,” he says.

“Well, yeah,” Niall starts to say, before Jesy comes whizzing down into the kitchen.

“The fuck are you two dipshits doing?” she says equally quickly, in that near-unintelligible way she gets when she’s preparing to race across town in a matter of seconds. She’s already wearing her spandex suit, hair pulled up off her head for maximum speed and the still buzzing phone in her hand. She’s also only staying with Harry and Niall until her flat’s done being renovated, which would almost be too much, if it weren’t for the fact that she buys groceries and makes sure Harry has a shower every few days.  “We’ve got a call.”

Niall keeps eating his waffles. “These are really good--can you get more when we leave?”

Jesy narrows her eyes at him some more, before darting forward and smacking him on the head.

“Niall thinks you’re Superman,” Harry adds, amused.

“And you!” Jesy turns on him, still furious. “You’re not even dressed!”

Harry looks down at his naked chest and boxers. “But I’m not naked?”

Jesy looks about two seconds from strangling him, before she’s racing back up the stairs to grabs their suits. “You fuckers--people could be dying!”

Harry looks down at his waffles sorrowfully. “She’s right--people _could_ be dying.”

Niall glances between the plate and Harry’s face. “H,” he says, swiping the waffle and practically inhaling them. “We are Simon’s last bloody call.” He swallows. “No one’s dying.”

\--

“So that’s a dead body,” Harry tells Niall, once they’ve arrived on the crime scene. The police had cordoned it off so that no civilians are hanging around besides the press, and so Harry, Niall, and Jesy are free to do what they need to do. Jesy’s off giving a statement, their usual ‘we have it all under control, etc. etc.’ while Harry stares down at what is actually a dead body and Niall calms the frantic woman in the coffee shop.

“Ha ha,” says Niall, out the side of his mouth. The woman’s noticeably bothered, probably because the man they’ve identified as her husband is both dead and unfamiliar to her, and it’s probably taking all of Niall’s concentration to keep her from shouting at them. “Technically he wasn’t dead when we arrived.”

The woman’s eyes got a bit wider, and Harry takes a few more steps away from Niall so that he doesn’t accidentally mess him up. “Right,” he says. “But he is now.”

“Hazza, you really aren’t helping--”

“Do you think that was the first time he’d had a peanut since he found out he was deathly allergic?” Harry asks, ignoring Niall.

The woman’s eyes have gone that glassy shade that means she’s dead to anything but whatever emotions Niall is feeding into her, so he reckons he’s safe to examine the rest of the crime scene. If Harry could call it a crime scene, at that. From the news reports, two attractive men and one women had arrived at the coffee shop, seemingly out of thin air, dressed in three piece suits and looking frantic, grabbed the woman by the shoulders, told her to come with them, vanished in a poof of smoke, and then returned several minutes later with woman and her husband, both with no memory of who they were or why they were there. And then, of course, by the time the police were notified of strange men poofing around London, the husband had gone and had a fatal reaction to peanut butter.

“There has got to be some irony in this,” Harry says, thinking that over. “Simon will not be pleased.”

Niall finishes easing the woman into a slumber with a sigh. “The good news is I don’t think her brain’s any more damaged than it was before they wiped her,” he says, dusting off his hands and coming to stand next to Harry. “The bad news is I don’t think even Nick could get her memories back.”

Harry looks down at her husband, and sighs. “Maybe that’s for the best, yeah?”

Before Niall can respond, Jesy arrives next to them with a slightly out of breath Professor Grimshaw, who gives Harry his usually flirtatious grin and punches Niall in the shoulder. “What’s this about me not being able to fix her?” he asks him. “Are you besmirching my good name, Horan?”

“God forbid.” Niall rolls his eyes at him and steps even closer to Harry, who very subtly prevents Nick from listening in on anyone’s thoughts. Or tries to--he only knows it works because Nick’s eyes got a shade sharper around the edges. Professor Teasdale would be so proud.

“All of her memories are gone,” Jesy interrupts, straight to business. Harry’s going to miss her when she leaves.

“I think she has some of her childhood,” Niall adds. “I found some happy stuff, some sad stuff, mostly colors, but.” He shrugs. “Whoever wiped her wasn’t being malicious.”

Harry furows his brow a little. “Why would you even go to the trouble of kidnapping a woman and her husband only to return them unscathed, generally speaking?” he says, somewhat rhetorically.

Nick cracks his knuckles. “Well, if Harold wouldn’t mind letting me have my brain back, we can go find out.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but let’s Niall pull him away from Nick and the woman with a sigh. “Just trying to keep you on your toes, Grimshaw,” he says.

 _Careful, Harold_ , Nick says in his head. _People will start to think you’ve got secrets._

Harry rolls his eyes and takes comfort in the fact that he knows Nick can’t hear any of his thoughts.

“I don’t know why he’s your favorite professor,” Niall says, tugging on Harry’s arm at his side.

Harry can hear Nick laughing in his head, amused.

“You don’t like Grimmy, Niall?” Harry says, leaning into his friend a little bit. They’re getting their usual amount of attention, seeing as they’ve got on the costumes and Niall attracts non-mutants like some sort of sun (“My brain likes it when _people_ are happy,” Niall likes to say), but so far no one has said anything to them. Harry supposes it’s only fair, seeing as the real news piece are the strange teleporting men.

“I don’t dislike Grimshaw, no,” says Niall, glancing back over his shoulder and making a face at Nick.

Their Professor is busy searching through the woman’s head for her memories, so he doesn’t seem to be paying them any mind.

“I just don’t like him nearly as much as you do.” The unspoken, ‘which is far too much and you know why I’m asking’ sits heavy in the air around them.

Harry sighs. “I don’t have to dislike everyone _he_ doesn’t like,” he mutters, bright mood forgotten.

Niall looks down at their point of contact and sighs. “Hazza,” he starts to say.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry snaps. He hasn’t wanted to talk about it for the past three years--he’s not about to start anytime soon.

Niall sighs. “Fine,” he says, letting go of Harry’s hand. “What do you want to do for your birthday?”

Harry blinks, startled. “Erm, well,” he says, slowly. “I don’t suppose we could just go out to a bar and get smashed?”

Niall whines at him. “But that’s so boring,” he says. “You’re turning twenty, Haz! You’re finally not a teenager.”

Harry sighs deeply at him. “Woo,” he says.

Niall’s eyes go sharp. “Look, I know you and Lou had some pretty specific plans for your twentieth and mostly they involved preparing for your twentyfirst, but just because he’s not here--”

“I don’t think Professor Teasdale and I had any plans for  my twentieth birthday,” Harry interrupts loudly, dragging Niall back towards the alleyway so they can pull on civilian clothes. Most of the attention is back on Nick and Jesy anyway, so Harry thinks they’re free to unmask and drop trough, as it were.

Niall stares him down, unfazed, as Harry sets about peeling of the spandex suit and pulling on his jeans. “Harry,” he says.

“Niall,” Harry replies, and tosses him a t-shirt. “You know, you probably could have asked Barbara something about today besides ‘what color shirt do you think I should hide in this alleyway for next week.”

Niall rolls his eyes and starts dressing. “You’re just jealous because you’ve never banged someone who could see the future,” he says. “Oh, bollocks, she said I was going to say that.”

Harry counts to three in his head. “And that my friend is why you are no longer ‘banging someone who can see the future.’”

Niall is shaking his head. “I can’t even be mad at her for smacking me--I definitely deserved that.” He almost looks sad about it, though mostly he just seems pleased, as he always is whenever Barbara’s visions come true. The first time he’d introduced her to Harry he hadn’t been able to stop announcing that he knew Harry was going to say that every single time Harry said anything. Apparently, meeting Harry was more terrifying than meeting Niall’s actual parents, and Niall had insisted Barbara give him the cliff notes on dinner. Thinking back on it, Harry’s surprised they lasted as long as they did.

 “She was too good for you anyway, Nialler,” he says, patting Niall on the back. “We’ve been over this.”

Niall makes a choked off noise and pulls the t-shirt over his head. “She had great fashion sense, though,” he says, looking down at the way it drapes across his chest. “A keen eye for color.”

Harry pulls on his own shirt. “She is a model,” he points out. “Pretty sure they’re all unfairly decent at clothes.”

Niall nods. “That is also true,” he says. “Let the record show that while you should definitely break up with me because of that last bit, I will always miss you, Babs.”

Harry snorts. “Sap,” he says.

Niall turns to him with a razor sharp grin. “Well, I learned from the best,” he says. “The king of relationships himself.”

Harry swallows heavily. “Shut up, Niall,” he says, stalking back towards the street.

“Mr. Romantic, the quote ‘best thing that ever happened to me’ end quote--”

“Shut _up_ , Niall,” Harry repeats darkly, lengthening his stride.

He leaves Niall cackling behind him in the alleyway, mood thoroughly soured.

\--

Nick ends up getting enough of the girl’s memories back to have her sobbing over her dead husband but able to continue her life (give or take a few months of therapy) and Simon personally calls Niall and Harry’s landline to thank them.

They end the call with the distinct sense that they are no longer the last call, and proceed to go out and get extremely drunk in celebration.

Which is to say, not all that drunk at all, Niall because he is Irish, and Harry because he’s planning on driving. Also, he really doesn’t like where his brain goes when he’s drunk.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Niall tells Harry, leaning heavily into his side. They’re at the bar in one of Nick’s favorite clubs, which is filled to the brim with dancing, sweaty bodies, human and mutant alike. Not that the place advertises that, despite London’s rather large superhero population and propensity for crime, but Harry is pretty sure the girl two seats down from them is a teleporter; either that, or she has a twin. It does mean Harry has to work very hard not to give anyone an unnecessary scare by zapping away their powers, though, so it’s probably all the better that he’s not drunk.

Niall meanwhile has bewitched one of barmen into giving them both free drinks.

“What about earlier?” Harry takes a sip of his drink, which is the only drink he’s allowing himself to have.

“The--the relationship thing,” Niall continues, voice loud to be heard over the booming bass in the bar. “It’s not my place.”

Harry bites back a retort because it is actually Niall’s place. Niall lost just as much as Harry did that night three years ago, even if it wasn’t to the same level of extreme. “Thanks,” he says instead.

Niall pats him on the cheek. “You can find better than him, anyway,” he continues.

Harry sighs. “I dunno, Niall,” he says.

Usually when Niall starts reminiscing about Harry’s past relationships, he starts matchmaking, which never ends well. The first time he’d set him up with Taylor, who was sweet enough, but now had a tendency to levitate whenever she saw Harry, never mind that she broke up with him for being ‘uninteresting’, whatever that meant. After that, Niall’d tried to set Harry up with his friend’s friend Kendall, who never told Harry what her mutation was, but was patently uninterested and had a terrifying family. Niall’d really only ever tried to set Harry up with one bloke, via an online dating website for mutants that backfired when Professor Corden was the one who showed up at Harry’s favorite restaurant.

This time, Niall doesn’t seem to be eager to start setting Harry up with random men or women. “Don’t put yourself down, Harry,” he says. Neither of them are drunk enough not to wince as soon as he’s done that, memories filtering into their little corner of the world and making Harry squirm in his seat.

“I’m not,” Harry says, like he’s not been affected at all. “But the last person you set me up ended up being a Kardashian, so...”

Niall reaches out and punches him in the arm. “You’re welcome.”

The barman looks a lot more interested in the two of them. Harry can’t quite tell if it’s because they started talking about Kendall, or because Niall’d touched him and stopped whatever it was that was getting them free drinks.

Harry sighs. “That wasn’t a compliment, Niall.”

His friend blinks at him and pats him on the cheek again. “I can set you up with awesome people,” he says. “Like--that bloke.” He points, leaving Harry to follow his line of vision helplessly because of his hand on his cheek.

The man in question is dressed to impress in skintight jeans to rival Harry’s own, a band t-shirt, and hair pushed up off his face in a quiff. Harry can’t make out much of him because of the flashing lights, but what little that he can leaves his mouth dry. “Oh.”

Niall seems smug. “Oh, indeed.”

Harry goes to frown at him, but it has been pretty much three years, not counting the wild end of Harry’s teenage years when he angrily threw himself on anyone who would take what he’d been saving for years out of some misguided sense of soulmates and true love. Not to mention the guy is fit. He looks down at his drink, and then back up at the guy.

Blue eyes, he thinks. And a smirk.

Harry downs his drink.

“Get in!” Niall crows, thrilled for Harry, patting him heavily on the back as he gets to his feet. “Make your Niall proud.”

Harry shakes his head as he walks, eyes rolling a little.

Niall just raises his glass to him in a mock toast. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Moving through a crowd of live people and not winking powers out of existence is infinitely more difficult than doing it seated at a bar. Harry can do it, but only because he’s been practicing since he turned seventeen and because otherwise he tends to get punched in the face by angry empaths and telepaths who feel cheated of their less than savory dating methods. Usually Harry's perfectly happy to punch them right back in the face, or watch their unsuspecting potential partners punch them in the face when they realize who they’ve bought a drink for. Now, pushing his way through a throng of people in search of a pretty face, Harry is tempted to let loose, for once in his life.

He’s nearly to the guy, hair plastered to his forehead like a lion’s mane, when it happens.

Across the dance floor, half hidden by the dancing people, is a man with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes like knives. His lips are pursed in a pout, there’s a drink in his hand, and as soon as Harry spots him, time stops.

He. He can’t be, because it’s been three years and London is the last place to go if you’re on the run from Simon Cowell himself, but, oh god, the bloke from before has somehow gotten all the way across the dancefloor and Harry _knows_ those hips, and he knows that man with the cheekbones, and suddenly he can’t breathe.

“Zayn?” he tries, voice a mere rasp, even though he knows the man, that _Zayn Malik_ , cannot hear him all the way across the room. He might have the super-vocal chords, but that doesn’t mean he’s got super-ears as well. Harry almost feels like laughing, at the way that sentence floats to the top of his mind in Zayn’s voice.

He’s not thinking about the other man, who’s reached Zayn now and is exactly as tall as he’s always been, leaning up on his toes to laugh in his ear and take the drink from his hand, fringe falling just so in his eyes and making Harry want to reach up and touch--

Harry’s not thinking about him _at all_. “Fuck,” he breathes, unable to stop looking. “Fuck.”

Zayn’s head swing around, eyes zeroing in on Harry’s face across the dance floor, and in the seconds it takes for his lips to part, Harry swears he sees recognition in his eyes.

And then Zayn makes a sharp noise and the sprinklers go off.

In the ensuing chaos, Harry loses sight of him and his companion. He stands under the cooling spray until Niall stumbles into him, dragging him out of the club complaining loudly about how much he liked his shirt and talking about waterparks, oddly enough.

He doesn’t seem to notice how shaken Harry is until they’re halfway to the car, at which point he drags them to a halt. “Are you okay, Haz?”

“Fine,” Harry says shortly. “Wet.” He’ll tell Niall about Zayn later.

\--

“The girl was a healer!” Niall says, in the middle of after dinner Monopoly. It’s the last day that Jesy is staying with them, and they’re celebrating by playing Niall’s favorite game and eating the remainder of the food she’s so graciously bought them while living in their guest bedroom and fuming up the toilet painting her nails. (And also Harry’s, but Niall and him aren’t talking about that. They also haven’t talked about Zayn being in London, but Harry’s not thinking about that.)

Jesy takes advantage of his epiphany to subtly nick some of Niall’s fake money, quick as a flash.

“The one with the husband with the peanut allergy--I knew her psychic energy was off, somehow. There’s no way one person can have that much pain.” Niall glances over at Harry and winces. “I mean.”

Harry kicks him. “Buy the bloody house, Ni,” he says.

Niall sticks his tongue out at him. “Anyway, that explains why we even got the call in the first place. There’s no way Nick would have been able to tell--they zapped her memories straight back to before her powers had even manifested.” He turns to tell Jesy he wants to buy Mayfair off her, and then frowns when he realizes he’s short five fake pounds. “What the--?”

“Sorry, Mr. I Never Lose at This Game, have you not got enough?” says Jesy smugly.

Harry takes a bite of his popcorn and chews. He’s not about to dob her in, seeing as Harry himself is one of the only members of their friend group who _doesn’t_ cheat at monopoly. It used to drive people up the wall, until Harry had given in one night and won big by climbing into people’s laps and kissing them until jealousy got the better of--

Niall seems to notice where Harry’s thoughts have gone, because he stops trying to haggle with Jesy over Mayfair abruptly. “Harry?”

Harry swallows his popcorn painfully. “Yes, Niall?” His voice is high and he knows that neither Niall or Jesy are currently able to use their powers. “Is it my turn?”

Niall keeps looking at him long and hard, before nodding. “I’m watching you,” he tells Jesy, who rolls her eyes and steals another one of his pound notes.

“So, someone’s targeting mutants, then?” says Jesy.

Niall looks away from Harry. “Yeah, I guess.” He yawns. “It’s not like Simon tells us anything. Popcorn.”

Harry chucks a handful of popcorn towards Niall’s face promptly, grinning as the Irishman actually manages to get a few pieces into his mouth.

“He actually called the house?” Jesy flicks one of Niall’s cheeks, which are filled to bursting with popcorn and make him look something like a chipmunk.

“Congratulated us and everything,” Harry adds, yawning a little. It’s only just after dinner, but Harry hasn’t been sleeping all that well in light of Zayn.

“Lucky.” Jesy flops back against the sofa cushions.

“I dunno.” Niall yawns, which is either proof of yawns being contagious, or due to the bleed of Harry’s exhaustion. “He’s a bit scary--I’m not sure I like the idea of being on his call list.” He turns just in time to catch Jesy with more of his money in her hands, and gapes. “Oi,” he exclaims, like he hasn’t been nicking her’s and Harry’s money right back.

Harry breaks his honest streak and nabs as much of Niall’s fake money as he can. “We’re not _really_ on Simon’s call list, are we?” he says. “Like, _really_.”

Niall blinks at Harry a little. He’s got a piece of popcorn still stuck to one of his cheeks. “No, Harry,” he says finally. “We’re not _really_ on Simon’s call list.”

Turns out, they _really, really_ are.

\--

“This is becoming a pattern!” Harry shouts over towards Niall, as they’re dodging the latest series of fireballs.

“What?” Niall nearly trips and brains himself turning to look at Harry, who grabs him by the arm to steady him.

“You saying something won’t happen and then it happening, I mean!” Harry continues, ducking around another pedestrian. Of course, in the rush to avoid getting burnt to a crisp, Harry has forgotten why he can’t go around touching people point blank, because instead of seeming pleased to see them as everyone who meets Niall on a job usually is, the man makes a surprised noise and nearly panics.

“Oi, watch it!” he cries, ducking barely to avoid one of the flames.

Harry’s heart nearly stops, switching focus immediately to try to find the source of the fireballs. The problem in that, of course, is that he’s not gotten very good at neutralizing powers without a face to put them to, and while he could lock down the entire street, something tells him that wouldn’t go over too well with Nick, who’s been battling with their enemy inside his head this entire time.

 _Absolutely_ , Nick’s mental voice sounds sluggish and syrupy, and Harry winces, tugging warily on the mental reins he has on his powers. He supposes it’s lucky that his little slip has prevented Jade opening a portal so that Nick can glare at him in person. 

Jesy’s been running the docile and enamored pedestrians right and left as quick as she can, but when the girl in her arms starts fucking _sobbing_ , she only just manages to keep from snapping her neck.

“For the love of--H!” she cries, shooting him a frantic look. “Your _hand_ \--!”

Harry lets go of Niall’s arm like he’s been burned, taking a quick step back reflexively, but the sudden panic humming through his veins leaves his power haywire and unchecked. He gets a handle on that quickly, all the years of practice finally coming into play, and immediately Jesy springs back into action, darting through one of the portals Jade plops into existence in front of her before she can be swallowed up by flames.

Which leaves Harry and Niall alone on the ground with their wonderful instructions to run. Which is all well and good, if not made slightly more life threatening with the addition of not knowing who they’re fighting and _why_.

It’s basically Harry’s least favorite form of world-saving--fumbling around in the bloody dark.

Admittedly it’s not a very consistent dark--one punctuated by blazing infernos that keep burning giant holes in the street and pavement--but the point stands. Harry’s flying blind, and now he’s gone and made Niall do the same.

The man from earlier isn’t the only one panicking now, children and their parents finally starting to take notice of just how close the fireballs have gotten to them, and screams starting somewhere in their eyes. Harry wonders if he knowing their faceless assailant is a crap shot would help matters much.

Before he can begin to do anything about it, Nick’s voice sounds loud in his head.

 _Styles, if you wouldn’t mind._ Nick’s mental voice sounds pissed, and Harry and Niall both wince. _It’s hard enough work dealing with Flame On over here_ \--Harry would laugh at the Marvel reference if it didn’t make something ugly settle into the pit of his stomach-- _without the screams of everyone on the damn block adding into it._

 _You could have said you’ve just got a headache,_ Harry thinks back at him, a little nastier than he would usually. Nick’s never been able to read him--something all their friends back at school used to be forever pissed off about--so he doesn’t get the full play-by-play of Harry’s anger, but bits of it must bleed through, because something close to apology floats its way inside of Harry’s head. The sentiment would be nice, if it wasn’t accompanied by his usual offer to help Harry forget the face attached to those ugly feelings.

Harry wrenches his mind away from Nick’s hold just in time to avoid nearly colliding with a frozen woman, eyes caught in horror at the blazing ball of fire hurling towards them.

Harry knocks her out of the way with a muttered curse, shooting Niall a hard look.

“Sorry!” Both Niall’s come hands up and his brows pull together as he concentrates.

Everyone in their immediate vicinity stops panicking in a way that Harry should find creepy, eyes finding Niall’s in some magical way and smiling. Then again, Harry’s been on enough jobs with Niall not to be all that affected by it anymore, since Niall’s default response to panic is to render anyone around him both pleasant and unassuming.

Niall just smirks, amused, and when another blast of fire comes at them from above, he’s the first to start moving. “Watch it, Hazzer,” he says, nickname slipping out quickfire fast. He darts around a few of his frozen admirers.

Harry startles, and starts running as well.

Scratch that, it’s really fucking creepy, Harry is a damn _liar._

One of the men looks about five seconds from asking Niall if he wants a tea. Two teenage girls look like they’ve seen some sort of celebrity, hands clutched tight to their phones ready to Tweet or text or _whatever_ about seeing ‘Luck of the Irish’ himself.

Niall’d come up with his superhero name while drunkenly out on the town, which would have been fine, since generally speaking the first thing you think to call yourself upon arriving at the X-Factor Mansion and being presented with Simon Cowell _himself_ isn’t what you go by for the rest of your world saving career. (Harry had been saddled by ‘Curly’ for most of Year Twelve--cons to having a best mate with his hand in every pot at the school and a propensity for mischief--and he only got out of it because said best mate spent most of the year before uni growing up.) Of course, Niall’d come up with his superhero name drunkenly while in the presence of the above mentioned best mate, so... Harry likes to think he’d gotten Louis back for the ‘Curly’ thing when he convinced everyone _including_ Professor Flack to call him ‘Toms’ for the entirety of April 2nd, though. Which--

So much for not thinking about it.

Sensing Harry’s feelings, Niall stops, unconcerned about the fact that they’re now presenting an immobile target. “Harry,” he starts to say, before their world erupts in fire.

The damn thing doesn’t hit them, which just goes to show that Harry’s initial read on their attacker is correct--they’re a right _awful_ shot.

“Oi, Flamel!” he shouts, sending out a spike of agitation off towards Nick’s building.

“Tell our friend they’re a crap shot!”

 _Will do, Curly_ , Nick replies, in and out of Harry’s head before Harry can do more than _blanch_ at the nickname.

Niall lets out of a bark of laughter, more nervous than anything, but when Harry reaches out to grab him by the shoulders, he goes where Harry drags him.

 “Jesus Christ, Ni!” Harry near shouts, getting a handle on his powers and shaking Niall a little. “You’re going to get us burnt to a bloody crisp!”

Niall still seems unconcerned, and he even goes so far to roll his damn eyes, and Harry is about three seconds from murdering him, when everything abruptly stops.

The fireballs, which had been increasing speed, stop coming, Nick is suddenly cursing up a storm inside their brains, and Harry and Niall are left surrounded by Niall’s adoring fans.

“--fucking, buggering, bloody _fuckface_!” Nick is shouting, out loud as well as mentally now, from where he and Jade have stepped out of nothing next to them.

Their professor just keeps cursing, face gone an awful shade of red and hair drooping sadly down onto his forehead, and even goes so far to kick the pavement a few times, without showing any signs of stopping.

Harry exchanges a quick glance with Niall, before schooling his features into benign amusement. “Um, Nick?” he says. It’s always weird talking to their Professors while they’re on a job--on the one hand, Nick Grimshaw is and always will be foremost Professor Grimshaw, whose lessons helped Harry learn the true meaning of friendship (preventing your best mate from getting expelled by being immune to telepathy and telling bald-faced lies), but on the other, the man’s currently just finished telling a bollard how much he’d like to fuck its mother.

Nick’s eyes swing around to meet Harry’s, and for a second, Harry is taken aback. There’s more than your usual hostility floating around in Nick’s eyes, but before Harry can get any sort of handle on why that would be, it’s gone.

“Oh, erm.” Nick lifts a hand to rub at the back of his head.

None of them seem to know what to say, save Niall, who sticks out a hand for a fist-bump. “Bro,” is all he says, nodding towards the bollard, eyes glittering.

The entire exchange feels borrowed, and it only takes Harry a second to realize it’s because he’s seen it before, back at the X-Factor Mansion, between Zayn Malik and anyone he called friend. (Niall and Harry, mostly.) The ugly feeling from before makes itself known with a vengeance.

Before Niall can say anything, though, Jade interrupts.

“Anyway,” she says, glancing around at the three of them. “What we were going to tell you, before Professor Grimshaw so rudely interrupted--” She’s trying for seriousness, but the quirk to her lips and the way she doesn’t seem to be able to meet Jesy’s eyes suggest she’s as amused by Nick’s outburst as Harry-- “Was that whoever we were dealing with had a telepath with them.”

“Whomever,” Harry mutters, then pauses. “Wait, what?”

Nick’s smile slides off his face. “And quite a good one, too,” he mutters. “Didn’t even know he was there till the end--I haven’t seen that kind of skill since Alber--” He breaks off, eyes going wide, but not before Harry’s brain takes that sentence and finishes it.

Alberto Alvarez. Also known as Professor Alvarez, also known as Louis’ favorite professor. Harry winces; that’s two times, then.

Niall shoots him another knowing and worried look.

“The point is that because of _whomever_ it is,” Nick says quickly, grinning at Harry. “Flame On had to be aware of every move we were making.”

There’s another short pause. Harry would be lying if part of it isn’t spent trying frantically to remember if he had any stray thought about wanking and all that lies down that road.

“What does that mean for us, though?” Niall finally asks, breaking the pause.

Harry is glad, because it forces the attention off the guilt eating away at his insides. Although now that he’s thought about that, there’s really no point, because Niall picks out emotions like a bloodhound who’s caught a scent. His friends look even more concerned, going so far as to subtly shift closer to Harry on the street.

“Dunno,” Nick starts to say, before there’s a sudden commotion.

Taylor lands in front of them with a grim look on her face, even as the civilians around them come back into focus in one great wave. “Harry,” she says, voice also grim. “Niall. Professor Grimshaw.”

Jesy and Jade exchange a look, but Taylor keeps speaking.

“There’s been another one.”

“Another what?” Jesy is the first to speak.

“Mind wipe,” Taylor explains.

The press appear to have arrived, and Harry is suddenly self conscious of all the little holes burned in his costume. It’s not like anyone else is better off, not counting Taylor, but they’d basically had to dress and run, so Harry hasn’t got anything cover his tattoos. Luckily, it seems most of the damage is to his right side, and not where anything damning could be showing.

Taylor is still talking. “--We only know about it because they’re such good friends--Professor Cowell was on his way for afternoon tea, and it’s not public yet but--”

“Hang on, Louis Walsh?” Niall interrupts, before Harry can do more than swallow that. “Like, Louis Walsh?” When all of them nod, he lets out a great woop. “Yes,” he says, punching the air. “I knew it--Haz, what did I tell you-- _healers_ \--!”

Taylor shoots him an unimpressed look. “If you’d like to share with the class, Irish?” she says, using Niall’s unfortunate alias.

Nick’s breath had caught somewhere around the time Niall started talking about knowing it, and now his eyes are glinting with excitement. Harry has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“The girl from before,” Niall says in a rush. “Something about her brain was bothering me--like, normally with your usual well adjusted soon to be married person, you’ve got all your little mundane worries and doubt and unease, not to mention any of the stuff floating around from childhood or a bad day at work or anything--but that girl--!” Niall breaks off to wave his hands about a bit. “She was a healer too!”

“I knew something about that brain was off!” Nick adds, sounding equally manic.

Harry has a pang of something sharp in his stomach, because the woman from before was certainly more than her _brain_ , but before he can start speaking, Taylor interrupts them.

“Jade,” she says, a bit sharply, grabbing hold of Harry’s shoulder, and all of a sudden they’re halfway across London inside apparently Louis Walsh’s flat, and Simon Cowell himself is there.

There’s a beat, where Harry’s insides start to rearrange themselves--he hates it when Jade jumps him through portals--before the rest of the crime scene swims into focus.

Because it is a crime scene, since Louis Walsh, founding professor of the X-Factor school and old friend of Simon Cowell himself, is dead.

Harry blinks.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Niall says finally. “He’s bloody dead.” 

Harry wouldn’t bet on it, but he thinks Simon might be smiling.

“How astute of you Mr. Horan,” he says dryly. There’s something lacking to his usual tone, because while his rapier wit appears to still be intact, his eyes seem a shade darker.

Niall looks like he’s gone and swallowed his own foot. “Sorry, Professor,” he gets out, voice stuttering a little.

Simon smiles a little in response, eyes still dead. Harry wonders if it’s normal that he’s never thought of him as Professor Cowell.

“Do you know who did it?” interjects Jesy, from somewhere behind Harry.

Harry startles, shifting into Niall’s side, and then freezes when he feels Niall’s hold on the room wink out of existence and the grief on everyone’s faces grows. Before he can pull back, Niall reaches out grabs him by the bicep, tightening his fingers until Harry winces and stills. “Ni,” he mutters.

“That’s why we’ve called you here, actually,” Simon says, voice surprisingly gentle.

Harry doesn’t really have time to think about that, because Niall’s grip on his arm is suddenly vice-like and unrelenting.

“Niall,” he says again, louder this time.

“Oh?” Niall ignores him.

Simon reaches out and slides a folder across one of the kitchen counters. Harry notices for the first time that Jade and Jesy and Taylor and Nick appear to have left the room, leaving only Simon and Niall and Louis Walsh’s still covered corpse.

“Professor Walsh was alive and well when our perpetrators left him this afternoon,” Simon continues to explain, almost tonelessly, opening the folder. “Unfortunately, the strain put on him by their...actions--”

Harry makes a reflexive wounded noise and Niall’s nails dig into the skin of his arm, right across the ship.

“--was too much--um--too much for him.” Simon’s voice breaks in the middle, and he brings up a hand to cough. “Excuse me,” he says.

Niall inclines his head.

“Regardless, Professor Walsh was a very vigilant man--”

“I’ll say,” Harry can’t help but say, grief playing with his brain-to-mouth filter and memories of being caught out after curfew in the X-Factor mansion by a very amused and very red-faced Professor Walsh clouding his judgment. He reckons he deserves the clench of Niall’s fingertips.

 “--and so we were able to retrieve photographic evidence of his assailants entering and exiting the flat,” finishes Simon. He doesn’t even so much as bat an eyelash over Harry’s moment of weakness, which is odd.

Of course, Harry doesn’t have time to think more about that, however, because Niall lets go of his arm and reaches for the glossy photos in Simon’s hand. He turns them round on the marble, eyes downcast, and all the breath goes out of Harry’s lungs.

“Harry _fucking_ Styles,” Niall starts to say, furious, but Harry can’t really focus on that. The room feels like it’s spinning, like he’s just had quite a lot to drink and everything’s still glowing around the edges. He is simultaneously filled with the urge to cry, and smile, and laugh, and then punch something, and _then_ , only after crying and punching and fucking _smiling_ , being sick.

Because the man pictured in the photographs, trench coat collar tucked up against his remarkable cheekbones with just a hint of stubble lining his jaw and eyes so very piercing blue, is none other than Louis Tomlinson himself. 

And according to Simon, he’s just gone and killed Louis Walsh.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely because of the Teenage Dirtbag scene in TIU, and because I love Superhero AUs/the X-Men. Vic gets a very special mention because she is essentially this thing's other parent. 
> 
> Also, please do not murder me. 
> 
> Masterpost/edit on my tumblr [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/98679470905/title-my-love-is-a-fortress-my-love-is-a).


	2. Issue 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m ALIVE. I’m also nearly done with the semester, XD. Anyways, I did some extensive plot overhaul which means tentatively this can have a better update schedule. Tentatively. I have finals in two weeks. 
> 
> Betaed by Sabrina, Vic, and Melanie. Britpicked by Jess. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Issue 2**

\--

**London: Present Day**

\--

“What. The. Fuck.”

Niall is the first person to find his voice once Harry’s gotten his lungs under control. He hasn’t had an asthma attack in ages, but this feels awfully close to one. There’s no telltale closing up of his airways, though, or the accompanying soothing touch of gloved fingers sliding through his curls, and Harry is seventeen and waking up in the infirmary all over again, burnt, bruised, and alone. Waking up without _Louis_ , Harry supposes, because there’s no need to be afraid thinking his name now, seeing as he’s _back_ , if the photo has anything to say about that. It’s still lying flat in front of Harry, Louis’ blue, blue eyes burning holes in every piece of Harry and making his palms sweat and his powers flare out like a beacon.

Harry wants to laugh, because he hasn’t lost control like this in three years either, the blip from earlier nothing compared to this.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Niall says again, when no one answers him. “Harry!”

Harry looks back down at the photo one last time, commits Louis’ face to memory, and hates how he can see every little difference, every little wrinkle and line of exhaustion telling him Louis hasn’t come out of this unscathed.

And he supposes there’s really no point in keeping count of how many times he’s thought that name, but that doesn’t stop him from knowing it’s been five, since that moment in the club. Since Louis as good as _murdered_  someone.

Six, then.

It doesn’t get any easier.

“Harry,” says Niall, less angry now, and Harry finally looks up.

He isn’t sure if he should be angry or pleased that all of them are looking at him, expressions varying from outright pity from Taylor to grimfaced worry from Nick, who’s still standing in the doorway, as far away from Harry as he can get without leaving the room. Harry feels his lips twinge with the urge to smirk, because, right. Nick _hates_ not having his powers. Used to drive him insane whenever Harry flipped them off on the weekends, had him red-faced and spitting angry, and Louis used to _laugh_.

Harry nearly bites through his tongue.

“Are you okay, H?” asks Niall, coaxing and quiet, breaking into Harry’s thoughts abruptly.

He tamps down on whatever nostalgia he has on hand and clears his throat. “I saw Zayn in a club,” he says, looking at Professor Cowell instead of Niall. His voice is unnaturally high. “A few days back. He looked good.”

“Fucking-- _Harry_ ,” snaps Niall, forcing his way into Harry’s personal space and glowering at him.

Harry doesn’t look back at him, eyes trained on Simon. “I don’t think he saw me.” That’s a lie, and he’s purposefully not mentioning that Louis was with Zayn as well, but Niall can’t tell he’s lying, and _Nick_ can’t tell he’s lying, and while Harry wagers Simon _can_ , he’s not about to say anything drastic.

Simon slides another set of photos forward, and Niall lets lose another series of curses.

Zayn looks good, hair pulled back with a headband and a beard lining his cheeks, and he’s turned around to look back at the camera as they leave. Louis, by contrast, spares no glances back behind them, as the three of them--and Harry doesn’t recognize anything about the third man, save that he’s attractive, got a quiff, and is probably Louis’ damn type, if his treacherous brain has anything to say about it--make their way out of Professor Walsh’s house. The next photograph is distorted, teleportation obvious from the purpling flares in between the static, and the one after that is over-exposed but empty.

 _Eleanor_ , Harry thinks, but doesn’t say anything. She’s always liked Louis.

“As you can see,” says Simon, setting his hands on the table bracketing the photographs. “The last people to see Professor Walsh alive and well were Mr. Malik. Mr. Tomlinson, Miss Calder, and our unnamed gentleman.”

“How do you know he was alive?” asks Taylor, straight to the point.

“Time of death,” Jade infers quickly. “The photos have time stamps?”

“The cameras inside the house are completely useless,” says Simon, not answering their questions.

“But who’s he?”

They return to Quiff Guy with furrowed brows, Nick saying he’ll put out feelers, and  Taylor making the same promise with a roll of her eyes, but Harry tunes them all out.

Harry stares down at the series of photographs with what he thinks is a vacant expression on his face, eyes flitting between Louis, Zayn, and Quiff Guy arriving, to the distortion of Eleanor arriving, to the two of them on their way out, and the distortion of them leaving. Parts of his brain are already picking apart the images, something about the order pinging as odd, but the rest of him is too overcome by seeing Louis for the second time in days.

Niall is still cursing, hands in his hair, but he stops abruptly and turns back towards Harry. “In the _club_ , Haz?” he says, and then slaps Harry in the shoulder, the sound loud in the tense silence of the room. “With the whistling and the sprinklers--” He breaks off, eyes going wide, then hard, and smacks Harry again. “You _wanker_.”

Harry finally meets his eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you,” he says reasonably, ignoring how his friend starts sputtering, and turns to address Jade. “Can I go home?” He thinks briefly that Professor Teasdale would be awfully proud of how easily he bends his powers away from Jade so that she can open portals.

Niall is still sputtering behind him, clearly about three paces from knocking Harry out so that he can force him to be happy and compliant when he wakes up, but Harry isn’t focusing on that right now.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Taylor starts to say, but Jade must see something in Harry eyes because she nods once, even as Niall starts cursing at her, and blips open a window to another world.

“I don’t know where it’ll take you,” she starts to say, because sometimes Jade’s portals do that, but Harry doesn’t care.

“Thank you,” he tells her and steps through, even as Niall starts moving. It’s nice wherever Jade’s gone and taken him too, open and wide and outdoors, birdsong whispering all around Harry.

“Fucking--Harry--!” says Niall’s voice, before the glowing hole through reality behind him closes with a faint pop.

Harry sighs, rolls back his shoulders, lets his powers expand far beyond his reach, and looks down at the ground.

At the _gravestone_.

And then he’s throwing up.

\--

It’s dark by the time Niall finds him, pulling up over the hill with his lights on full, and Harry spends a few moments seriously considering letting his flatmate stew in the car for however long it takes him to get tired of honking and get out the car. He’d spent the first few hours getting increasingly angry, until kicking the ground had resulted in the throbbing in his toe, at which point he’d started crying. It’s been long enough now that he can’t feel his face, dried tear-tracks notwithstanding, and he absolutely doesn’t want to look at Niall and see pity. Of course, he’s well beyond freezing at this point, spandex not at all suited to winter in London, so he lets Niall lean on the horn for a few more seconds before uncurling and heading towards the passenger’s side.

Niall sits in the car without commenting, knuckles white on the steering wheel and head nodding to the beat of whatever music he’s got playing. Harry’s not warm enough to discern that it’s anything other than Top 40 and probably the radio.

After a moment the window rolls down, and Niall sticks a hand out with a bunch of roses, half white and half red, and far fancier than anything Harry thinks they have lying around in their flat. Niall doesn’t look at him. “I think it’s the least you could do since you probably spent the last few hours crying,” he says.

Harry shakes his head, but stomps back over to where he’d emerged from anyway. He doesn’t just drop the roses on top of  the grave, but it’s a near thing.

Niall’s turned the radio off and unlocked the doors when Harry gets back to the car, sitting with it in neutral and his hands still on the wheel, still not looking at him.

Harry pulls open the passenger’s side and gets in without a word.

After a moment, he sighs. “Hey,” he says, voice raspy and broken sounding.

Niall visibly deflates. “Hey.”

There’s a bag of clothes for Harry in the back seat, a bag of takeaway from Nandos cooling next to it, and Harry reaches back and takes the clothes with a quiet, “Thanks.”

Niall just shrugs and doesn’t look at him while Harry dresses, which is far more difficult than it has any right to be, because spandex isn’t really suited to anything but crime-fighting, and Harry can’t feel enough of his fingers to be of much use.

He ends up banging his head on the roof at least three times, at which point Niall’s lips twitch and he turns to regard Harry carefully. “You going to bite my hand off if I go to help you and accidentally touch your dick, mate?” he says.

Harry glowers back at him from where he’s got both his hands trapped between his legs and hair in his mouth, which he spits out. “Piss off,” he says.

Niall full out grins at that. “Mmm,” he says. “Although you were never very growly as puppies go,” he continues, seemingly unconcerned. “Very sweet, very bouncy, all curl.”

“So what you’re saying is I was a cocker spaniel,” Harry deadpans, managing to get one hand free long enough to at least pull on the t-shirt Niall’s brought him.

“Good thing you had Tommo, though,” Niall keeps saying. “Very yippy, that one.”

Harry doesn’t rise to the bait, but his toe throbs a little and he winces. “Ow,” he says.  Niall turns to fully face him, the humor dying in his eyes, and Harry very quickly adds, “Don’t go kicking gravestones,” before he can say anything else.

Niall’s mouth falls open a bit. “I have no idea if you’re joking, Haz,” he says, finally sounding rattled. “And I don’t know if I want to know.”

Harry glances down at the skinny jeans Niall’s brought him, and then at his spandex clad legs. Then he looks at Niall.

His friend throws up his hands. “What? Are these not suitably skinny enough for your liking--sorry your pulling ones were in the wash.”

Harry lifts his chin in the air, and then his hips. “I’ll have you know that skin-tight clothing is an art form, Horan,” he says, getting the last scraps of his suit off so that he is, for all intents and purposes, sat in Niall’s car wearing a t-shirt and nothing else.

There’s a very pregnant pause.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Niall says finally, sounding strangled.

“This isn’t your car,” says Harry, equally strangled. It’s definitely Nick’s car, now that Harry thinks about it. Like, Niall wouldn’t be caught dead in whatever the fuck this is.

“No,” says Niall, eyes pointedly facing forward. “Now your pants?”

Harry glances down at the bag of clothes, and then back at Niall. “You didn’t bring me any,” he says, and yes, it comes out like a whine.

“Sorry for assuming you had any shred of decency, Harold,” Niall starts to say, and then, “Oh my God--Harry--” when Harry goes to shove his legs into his jeans.

Harry finishes peeling them up his legs and tucking everything in properly with his tongue between his teeth, brow furrowing as he navigates the zip. When he emerges unscathed, it’s to find Niall staring down at his dick with his mouth open.

Harry thinks this is one of those moments where Louis would probably get a bit “yippy”, to quote Niall. He says as much, and it only hurts a little.

Niall’s eyes flick back up to Harry’s face instantly, loud, braying laughter filling the car, and he reaches around to grab the bag of Nandos. “You’re one of a kind, Styles,” he says, patting Harry on the back, before reaching in for a piece of chicken.

Harry watches him eat two pieces in something of a daze before that image properly sets in. “Oi,” he says, going to snatch the bag from Niall, who shifts the car into first, glances in his rearview mirror, and manages to keep hold of his food. “That’s mine.”

“Nope, sorry,” says Niall, glancing behind them to make sure none of the corpses have risen from the dead, like they did that one year when one of Louis’ wannabe disciples ended up taking Halloween a little too literally. Harry thinks that of the villains they’ve faced, Luke is one of the nicer ones, but to this day, neither he nor Niall are capable of leaving cemeteries without checking for zombies.

Niall’s gone and eaten most of the chicken by the time Harry snaps out of it, but Harry schools his features into a pout anyway.

“Aw, fuck off, will you?” says Niall, but he hands Harry the bag anyway, where Harry’s own order of peri-peri chicken is waiting for him.

“Love you,” he tells Niall, and digs in.

Niall lets him eat in happy silence for as long as it takes for them to be back on an actually travelled road. “So,” he says finally, trailing off a bit. “Speaking of people you love.”

Harry sighs and lifts the napkin to his lips. “Can we just not talk about it?” he says.

Niall flips on his blinker and makes a turn. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you, Styles?” he says, instead of answering Harry.

Harry glances down at the car radio and does some quick addition. “Like four hours?” he tries.

Niall is audibly unimpressed, even as he says nothing and simply flips on the radio again. It’s definitely Top 40, probably old Justin Bieber if the nod of Niall’s head means anything, and Harry only barely manages to bite back a teasing remark.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, to be honest,” he says, once the song hits it’s second chorus.

Niall’s eyes flit to him once before he focuses on the road again. “You’re not the only one who got hurt, H.”

Harry swallows, shifting around in his seat until he can rest his forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers.

Niall doesn’t say anything else, humming along with the song on the radio to fill the silence.

Harry sighs, closes his eyes, and very quietly lets Niall into his head.

The thrumming pain and anger and sadness that’s been keeping Harry company since he saw Louis’ photo hours ago feels like it weighs a hundred stone when it lifts away from behind his eyes, warmth and happiness and _Niall_ settling in around his temples and easing his headache. The tiny bit of him that remembers giggling into Louis’ mouth behind closed doors, however, _doesn’t_ go away, no matter how much happy Niall throws at him.

 “Hazza,” Niall says, sounding sad, into the dark.

Harry keeps eyes shut, but doesn’t force Niall back out of his head.

\--

**X-Factor Mansion: December 2010**

\--

It’s Harry’s first real Christmas Eve away from home, and he’s not sad, per se, because he’s sixteen years old and he’s got superpowers, but he can’t quite sleep. His roommate Niall is fast asleep across from him, snoring lightly and dreaming about Christmas dinner, which Harry only knows because Professor Teasdale has started teaching him to work on _not_ taking away people’s powers, and Harry likes the way Niall makes him feel. It’s almost like how Louis makes him feel, although Louis does it through force of will, not brain chemistry.

Almost immediately Harry winces, head already conjuring images of Niall frowning disapprovingly at him over lunch that first morning, telling Harry to stop trying to apply science to superpowers. Harry’d been about three paces from making a comment about how it very much _was_ science, and how he thought mutations were quite _cool_ , but Professor Grimshaw had made a comment, and Louis had bristled, and Harry had decided that he much preferred the look on Louis’ face when he showed him his Marvel comics than any rousing discussions on evolution.

Of course, now that he’s alone and can’t sleep, Harry would rather _anything_ to take his mind off the ugly pit of homesickness in his stomach. He still can’t quite let his walls down enough for Niall’s bubbly personality to be too infectious, which normally Harry quite enjoys, because it makes Louis get all smug and crinkly, but now, lying awake with nothing but his own thoughts, Harry wouldn’t mind.

The door to his room swings open with a bang, and Harry sits up with a start, mouth going open to scream, before what he’s seeing sets in, and he stops. Standing in the doorway, shuddering with what Harry thinks is laughter, is a white bed sheet. Harry stares at it blankly for a few moments, before his eyes slide down and take note of the two pairs of bare and one pair of socked feet sticking out the bottom of it.

He closes his mouth.

“You’re a bloody idiot, Tommo,” says one third of the bed sheet, sounding bored and entirely unimpressed at having been woken at this hour.

“I still don’t understand why we’re a ghost--it’s not even Halloween--” says another third, before breaking off as the final third elbows it in the side, the form shifting accordingly.

“Shut up, Payno,” it says. “We’re the holy ghost, if you must know.”

Harry bites back a giggle.

“Ow,” says Liam. “ _Louis..._ Have you got wires for arms?”

There’s another scrambling movement and then another yelp.

“Going to take that as a yes.”

This time, Harry definitely giggles.

“Was that Harry?” Louis says, sounding pleased. “Quick, positions, lads.”

Harry waits, one eyebrow raised, as the three of them start to try to move into the room. Harry thinks they’re trying to be scary, because Louis is making some sort of terrible ‘booing’ noise, but Zayn isn’t having it and is dragging his feet, and Liam is obviously still a bit confused as to why he’s involved. (Harry doesn’t blame him, since it’s about fifteen-eighty five whether or not Louis will be civil or decide to stick a kick me sign to Liam’s back.)

“What are you doing?” Harry says finally, just in time for one of them to trip over Niall’s dirty laundry and land in a heap.

“Fucking--fuck,” whisper-shouts Louis, fumbling around on the floor until he can get his head out from under the sheet, while Zayn and Liam just lay on the ground, resigned to their fate

Zayn at least has the good graces to reach out towards the door, which he nudges closed first with his hands and then with a well placed sound wave.

Harry bites back another giggle, and Louis’ eyes snap to his face.

“Happy Christmas?” he tries, trying for a smile.

Harry smiles back, unable to help himself. “Hi, Lou,” he says.

On the bed, Niall just keeps snoring, entirely unaware. He’s able to sleep through most of anything, including the three alarms he has set to make sure he’s up for breakfast. Harry’s only been in the mansion for five months, but even he thinks they’ve reached the point in their friendship where Niall should trust him enough to turn the damned things off and just let Harry get him to breakfast on time, but apparently Harry doesn’t understand the importance of breakfast enough, so he’s been stuck with it.

Now, though, Harry only has to exchange one mischievous glance with Louis before the two of them are lunging for Niall’s bed.

Harry gets a little bit lost in the joy of the scuffle, because Niall tends to wake up swinging, and Louis just barely manages to shove a gloved hand over his mouth. It’s hard not to notice how tense Louis is, however, even as he submits to the playful wrestling Niall insists upon once he’s awake, and how careful he is that his gloves stay high enough and his skin never touches any of theirs.

 “Why the fuck am I awake?” says Niall, once Louis’ cried mercy and flopped boneless against the bed.

On the floor, Liam makes a pained noise and waves a hand about.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” says Zayn finally, getting to his feet. He looks unfairly attractive as always, even having been shoved under a bed sheet at half two in the morning.

“Wrong,” says Louis, throwing a pillow at him. “It’s my birthday.”

Zayn takes the pillow to the face with dignity. “Right,” he says. “That.”

Louis turns to face Harry. “It’s my birthday and we’re going ice-skating,” he says happily. “Right, Hazza?” He looks at Harry with his unfairly large blue eyes and the eyelashes and the smile and Harry stands absolutely no chance.

Leigh-Anne is less than impressed when they all show up outside her door at half two in the morning, but she traipses out to the fountain anyway, fashioning them all make-shift skates out of thin air and only complaining minimally.

When Harry sees Louis smile, legs spread wide as he goes careening around in circles dragging Zayn behind him with one hand and reaching for Liam with the other, he thinks he understands.

“You’re not the only one who’s homesick, H,” says Leigh-Anne, finishing fashioning him some skates, and then she winks, presses a finger to her lips, and alters the ice so that it trips Louis flat on his face.

As Christmas Eves go, it’s not half bad.

\--

**X-Factor Mansion: Present Day**

\--

Harry comes awake in stages, Niall’s hand warm on his shoulder, and Niall’s feelings sliding in and out of his dreams. He yawns and shifts around in his seat, not at all ready to wake up. “Mmm, carry me, Niall.”

There’s a pause before Niall’s hand tightens on his shoulder and his mind goes slithering away.

And then Nick Grimshaw’s telepathic voice is not so kindly shouting in Harry’s head about nudity and decorum and a whole other slew of things that Harry has no interest in hearing. “Niall,” he whines. “Give me back my brain, please.”

Niall makes an amused sounding noise, but does as Harry asks, and the sorrow from earlier comes slamming back down on Harry’s shoulders. He yawns, blinks his eyes open, and gets out of the car.

“You told him I wasn’t wearing pants?” he says, as they make their way towards the front of the X-Factor Mansion. It’s just as towering, unchanging, and welcoming as it had been four years ago when Harry was sixteen and freshly out of secondary school. It’s late enough that not many of the lights are on, although Harry can still see Simon’s light blinking on the first level round the back, and for once his stomach isn’t in knots when he sees the giant fountain just starting to freeze.

Niall elbows him in the side. “It’s a bit hard to keep secrets from a telepath, Haz.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sorry I was sleeping.”

Niall stretches his arms back behind his head. “Nah, it was cool,” he says. “I’d much rather that than silence.”

They’ve reached the great, sweeping doors, and Harry thinks for probably the millionth time how very much they look like Hogwarts.

Niall is probably thinking the same thing, eyes lighting up like Christmas, and Harry turns to him before he can start to quote Hagrid.

“Don’t say anything.”

Niall pouts. “You are no fun, Harry Styles,” he says. “Absolutely no fun.”

Harry glances down at his jean-clad legs and raises his eyebrows.

“Mildly fun in the ‘haha Grimshaw’s face is going to priceless but he’ll also probably make me sit in as an example during lecture’ kind of way,” Niall amends.

Harry barks out a laugh, before reaching out to pat Niall on the shoulder. “You’re a wonderful example, Niall,” he says.

Niall scowls at him. “You’re only saying that because you never had to do it.”

Harry shrugs. He hadn’t, but that was only because ever since that week Professor Flack had helped him figure out he could radiate his powers out around him like some sort of invisible, power-leeching force field, Louis’d had no qualms about convincing Harry to do that constantly around Nick. Also because, of the five of them, Niall had always been most in control of his powers. “Yeah well,” Harry says. “My loss, then?”

Niall rolls his eyes and grabs hold of one of the door knobs. “Shut up, Styles,” he says. “Now pull.”

Harry’d forgotten that not only do the doors look like Hogwarts, but they also probably weigh as much as Hogwarts, like all of it not just the doors, and Professor Cowell has the uncanny ability to somehow make them even heavier when you’re out past curfew.

“I forgot what it was like to get home past curfew,” says Niall, once they’ve stumbled inside and are bent over out of breath in front of the now closed doors. “Or without Eleanor.”

Harry doesn’t flinch at mention of her name, but it’s a near thing. He doesn’t dislike Eleanor, but he doesn’t really want to think about her right now. “Yeah, well,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He’d kind of like to just sleep, at this point.

Niall makes a sympathetic noise and Harry can feel his mental fingers soothing away some of that exhaustion, and his walls snap up defensively before he can stop it; he’d kind of like to be left alone with his wallowing, never mind he’s already had four hours with it.

Niall takes a small step back, actual hands coming up in front of his face, and Harry winces and drops his shields.

“Sorry, Ni,” he murmurs. “I panicked.”

Niall just looks at him for a hard moment, before reaching out and taking Harry’s hand in his own. “Have a headache, anyway,” he says, when Harry shoots him a curious look. 

Nick appears at the top of the stairwell, left eye twitching in a way that suggests he’s been shouting in Harry’s head this entire time. “Harold Styles,” he starts to say as he make his way to them. “What have you been doing in my car?”

Harry ignores him. “Do you reckon our room’s still the same?”  he asks Niall.

Niall throws him a wry smile. “I actually think it’s taken, Haz,” he says, sidestepping Nick as he goes snarling down the stairs at them. “Oh the woes of leaving the nest.”

“I think we did that when we came to X-Factor period,” Harry says dryly, shifting away from Nick as well. Their professor has gone silent, eye still twitching, and Harry would guess he’d be shouting in Harry’s head, if he could.

“Yeah, semantics,” says Niall, hands waving about. He starts tugging Harry towards the giant, sweeping staircase. “But you know how nice our room was, Haz. Mold on the ceiling and all.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “The mold was only on the ceiling because you convinced Taylor to bring me some tea, Niall.”

Niall’s face splits into a wide grin. “Not my fault you weren’t actually there and Tommo was all set to surprise you,” he says. “Not my fault she nearly brained herself on the ceiling.”

Harry heaves a long sigh.

“Anyway, I’m sure there’s _one_ room in this bloody mansion that’s empty,” says Niall, still smiling. “Now are you done shouting at us and ready to take us there?” He turns to Nick, who Harry wagers must have been shouting in _Niall’s_ head, and their professor sighs.

“I’ve a had a long day, Grimmy, please,” Harry tells him, trying to smile.

Nick grumbles a little to himself, but he ruffles Harry’s hair and heads back up the stairs anyway.

The only room that happens to be free of mutant children happens to be Louis and Zayn’s old room, and Harry turns to look at Nick with a look of horror, then at Niall, before making a noise that he thinks is a wail but comes out more like a whimper.

“Sorry, Haz,” says Nick, patting him on the back. “Only one empty.”

Harry watches him disappear off towards his own rooms, face still transformed in horror.

He looks back at the bed.

“Erm, Harry?” says Niall, as Harry makes his way over towards the rightmost bed and sinks into the pillow face first.

“Yes, Niall?’ Harry asks his pillow.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that bed--like, I’m perfectly fine taking it--”

“I’m fine, Niall,” Harry says into his pillow, which smells mostly like washing powder, and nothing like freshly cut grass. “This is fine.”

Niall just pats him awkwardly on the head with one hand before slipping off towards the other bed. “Right,” he says. “Erm, let me know if you want to switch, though.”

Harry shuts his eyes and falls asleep in Louis’ old bed.

\--

Quiff Guy’s name is Aiden Grimshaw and he’s a memory modifier of no relation to their own Professor Grimshaw.

Harry finds out over breakfast the next morning, ensconced in one of the great chairs in the sitting room, munching on some burnt toast, while Niall stacks his pancakes into terrifying towers and gets him up to speed on whatever he’s missed. It’s nearing noon on a Thursday, so everyone’s been up for ages, but Harry’d taken one look at the sunlight filtering into his eyes that morning and gotten the fuck out of Louis’ bed and into Zayn’s and ignored the fact that Niall wasn’t there to cuddle him.

By the time he’d wandered down to see what the fuss was about--Professor James had snuck up on Nick _again_ and was getting his usual ‘I’m going to make you wish you were _always_ invisible’ lecture from the man himself--most of the students were already through with lunch and off to classes, leaving Harry stuck alone with Niall, Professor Teasdale, and a still fuming Nick Grimshaw.

And also Professor James, but the man’s very wisely decided to stay invisible for the time being.

Nick rips a piece of bacon in two and shoves one into his mouth. “I’m going to fucking _kill_ you, Gregory,” he says.

Harry wouldn’t give it away, but he thinks Professor James is over by one of the bookcases, since he suspects the air is laughing over there.

“He’s kind of a thug for hire sort of person,” Niall continues, snagging a bite of one of the pancakes before going for the syrup. “But I vaguely remember him hanging around with Lou and Zayn back when the two of them were still showing their faces around London.”

Harry makes a humming noise and takes another bite of his toast. He knew Louis had associates, because neither he nor Zayn have been exactly _quiet_ the past three years, but they certainly hadn’t gone around _killing_ people. More like, they had quietly robbed a few stores and hacked a few computers looking for mutant records, of all things. Harry only really remembers it from the increased security in the Mansion computer lab, and the way that his mum had bit her lip when he asked if he could come home for his birthday.

“Anyway, that’s like all we know, at this point,” finishes Niall, setting the plate of pancakes in front of Harry with a wide grin. “Tuck in.”

Harry continues nibbling on his toast and tucks his feet up under him, resting his chin on his knees. “Not hungry,” he says around the toast. “As I said.”

Niall looks unimpressed. “You have to be hungry,” he says. “You’re literally never not hungry. You’re like one long bean pole of hunger and skinny jeans.”

Harry drops his mouth open and blinks a few times.

“That’s a lovely description, Mr. Horan, five points,” says Professor James, materializing next to the bookshelf.

“This isn’t bloody Hogwarts!” sputters Nick, at the same time Harry points at Professor James with his toast.

“Ha, I knew it,” he says, glancing around the room. “Air doesn’t laugh.” He darts a quick glance at Niall, before picking up the fork and picking up a pancake.

“It’s kind of like Hogwarts,” says Professor James. “Simon is definitely like Gandalf.”

“Gandalf isn’t even in Harry Potter!” Nick say shrilly, even as Professor James winks at Harry before fading into the background.

“You really ought not to let him get to you, Grimmy,” says Professor Chung, on her way to the kitchen. “You’re an easy target.”

Nick flips her the middle finger and stalks off towards the classrooms. “I’m off to educate the masses,” he snaps. “Where I am appreciated and adored by all.”

Harry stop eating his pancakes to watch him stride off, chewing, before turning to whisper out the corner of his mouth to Niall. “Do you think he knows that’s there?” he asks, pointing at the ‘kick me sign’ stuck to Nick’s back.

“Nah,” says Professor James, appearing in Nick’s spot. “Was too busy shouting at what he thought was me to notice.”

Niall points at him with one finger. “You are menace, Greg James,” he says.

Harry’s mouth opens because _of course_ he is, since he was Louis’ second favorite professor, but stops, appetite lost.

Niall’s arm drops and he turns to face Harry worriedly, concern etched between his brows. “Hazza,” he says delicately.

Harry picks up another pancake and shoves it into his mouth. “Still don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles. “These are delicious.”

\--

Niall lets him mope around the mansion for two more days before he snaps, waking Harry from nightmare memories by leaping onto his bed at half three. Harry startles awake in fight or flight mode, eyes wild and heart pounding in his chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ--Ni--how many people--what time is it-- _fuck_ \--” he sputters out, trying to reign in his powers and also pull the duvet up over his naked chest.

Niall remains unconcerned, sat atop Harry’s chest dressed to fight crime. “Morning,” he says. “Or afternoon, I suppose.”

Harry gapes up at him, heart still going a mile a minute. “Has someone _died_?” he says, which he’s aware is probably not a good thing to keep asking what with Niall’s damn track record, but again, two seconds ago he was bloody sleeping.

“Nope.” Niall’s eyes flick down to look at the bird’s Harry’s got across his collarbones, catching on the left one with a frown.

Harry redoubles his efforts to cover up his modesty. When it becomes clear that Niall isn’t going to move at all, he stops with a sigh, flopping back down against the bed. Fuck it. If Niall wants to interrupt Harry’s beauty sleep, he can deal with a little nudity. Not like it’s anything he’s never seen before. “Is there any reason you’ve woken me up, then?” he asks. “And why you’re dressed like that?”

Niall meets his eyes. “Well for one I look fucking good. Also, it’s afternoon,” he says slowly. “And it’s been like three days.”

Harry glances beyond him up towards the ceiling, staring at the spot he knows is from that time Liam tripped over one of Louis’ shoes and only quick thinking saved them all from going up in flames. “I think I’m allowed to mope, Nialler,” Harry says, voice a little sharp.

Niall shifts around on the bed so that he’s lying next to Harry instead of straddling his hips. “No, I know,” he says. “But, like, it’s been three days.”

Harry sighs. “More like four years,” he mumbles.

“Not quite.” Niall pats him on the head. “Still a teenager, Hazzer.”

Harry rolls his eyes and then flips over so that he can better regard Niall, one cheek resting in a palm. “Mmm,” he says.

“Anyway.” Niall shifts around on the bed as well. “You’ve been moping for three days. You need a distraction.”

“What, like fighting crime?” asks Harry, only half joking. Since they’ve arrived at the mansion, no one’s died, but like, Nick and Professor James and even some of the older students have been out on missions. Mostly it was just fighting the boys of Five Seconds of Summer, but still like...crime was fought.

“Like fighting crime,” agrees Niall. “Or distracting Grimshaw while Greg ties his shoelaces together.”

As if on cue, there’s a series of thudding noises--Nick was probably stood near the staircases--and then a cry of pain, Professor James’ name, and Harry and Niall’s.

“Hey, why am I involved?” Harry whines out, rolling more solidly on top of Niall on the bed and cuddling into him. The duvet manages to mostly stay up and between the two of them, but Harry spares a brief hope that Niall has closed the door to the room, because otherwise his bare arse is on display for the entire mansion. “I was sleeping.”

Niall just hugs him back and shrugs.

 _HORAN! STYLES!_ roars Nick’s mental voice, before their professor comes thundering into the room. _What are you_ \-- He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words.

Harry shoots a glance over his shoulder, and, yeah, the door is wide open and now Nick’s gone and seen his bare arse.

Niall seems to realize that at the same moment as Harry, because he reaches down to place a surprisingly cold hand on said arse. “Grimshaw,” he says equally coolly.

Nick’s eyes snap back up to Harry’s face, which isn’t blushing, but he thinks that’s because of the shock factor. Like. Niall is groping him.

“When I said tell him to stop moping after Tomlinson and pull his head out of his arse I didn’t mean become his rebound, Horan,” Nick says, dropping his shoe to the ground and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t know my methods,” says Niall, not taking his hand off Harry’s bum. “Fuck off.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” says Harry, several minutes too late.

“Right.” Nick hasn’t stopped pinching his nose.

“Yep,” agrees Niall, patting Harry on the bum one last time and then letting him go. “But, Haz, powers?”

Harry blinks and shifts around on the bed so that he’s not flashing the hall. “Pardon?”

“My powers?” Niall yawns. “You zapped them away when I woke you up.”

Harry blinks again. “Yeah, but, I gave them back,” he says. “Like. Grimmy was talking in our heads?”

He and Niall both turn to look at Nick, who lifts his head. _What?_ he thinks at them. _Figured it was easier_.

Niall stares at him for a while longer. “But,” he says slowly. “I don’t have my powers?”

“You don’t?” says Harry, and suddenly the entire room is in motion.

Niall is up off the bed and nearly to Nick in the doorway, who grabs him before he can take off as far away from Harry as possible. “Listen, Irish--Horan-- _Niall_ ,” says their professor. “Breathe--”

“Harry, give them back,” says Niall, voice high and strained. “Harry, give them _back_.”

And Harry’s trying, because he doesn’t know how he took them away in the first place--didn’t know that was even _possible_. “I’m trying--I’m trying--sorry--Niall--” Harry rushes to say, fumbling around on the bed and trying to find the place inside of himself where his powers are. He has no idea what he’s even doing, no idea how to even begin, but Niall’s face has gone splotchy and his eyes are shiny and Harry can’t bear to see him like that. He heaves a deep breath, concentrates like his life depends on it, and moments later the room feels stuffy and warm.

Harry’s smiling without meaning too, nervous giggles bubbling up in his chest.

Nick is no better off, having been pressed all the way against Niall, who is taking deep, relieved breaths.

“Sorry,” Harry says, tiny and small. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s fine, Hazza,” Niall says breathlessly, but Harry doesn’t think it really is fine.

His powers snap back around him, dimming out Niall’s infectious relief and leaving Harry guilty and barely holding it together. “I’m going to talk to Professor Cowell,” he decides, getting to his feet.

When Niall makes a move like he’s going to stop him, he goes to grab his pants.

“We’re supposed to report to him any time our powers evolve, anyway,” he mumbles, not meeting his best mate’s eyes. “It’s just protocol.”

“Harry,” says Niall, but his voice is still a little raw, so Harry just heaves his shoulders back and grabs a t-shirt and trousers from the floor.

“I’m really sorry, Nialler,” he says, before he’s out the door and off towards Simon’s office.

\--

Professor Cowell is in the middle of a discussion with Professor Higgins about Professor Walsh’s death when Harry arrives outside his office. The door’s open, so it’s not like they’re trying to be discrete, but Harry still ends up standing awkwardly outside trying not to actively eavesdrop. It’s not like he doesn’t have a reason to be there or anything, only, Simon sounds absolutely convinced of the killer’s guilt, and being that the killer in question is Louis, Harry’s not sure he wants to listen to it. He’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.

“--the point is that we have the upper hand, Paul,” Simon is in the middle of saying when he catches sight of Harry, who waves like an idiot.

Simon just stares back at him looking infallible and unfazed.

Harry probably shouldn’t have waved. Harry should probably put his hand down. He puts his hand down and debates leaving to go thump his head against the wall a few times.

“Harry,” says Simon, shooting Professor Higgins a look and closing the folders on his desk.

“Sorry, um,” Harry says, not sure if he should just walk in or if he should keep talking from behind the doorway. When Simon inclines his head at him, he comes into the office. “But Niall was in my bed, right?”

Simon’s eyebrows lift infinitesimally.

Professor Higgins has a coughing fit.

Harry very suddenly remembers that both of them have walked in on him in compromising positions in this very office.

“Anyway,” he says a bit desperately, casting a look around for something to focus on and ending up on the photos of Louis, Zayn, Aiden, and Eleanor spread across the desk. “I ended up accidentally taking away his powers...” He pauses, trailing off and staring at the series of images. Louis, Zayn, and Aiden arriving. Eleanor arriving. The four of them leaving. Louis, Zayn, and Aiden arriving. Eleanor-- He stops.

“Harry?” prompts Simon.

Harry glances up briefly to meet his eyes before looking back down at the photos, striding towards the set and spreading them out. “Why didn’t she teleport them there?” he mutters, brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why didn’t she teleport them there?” Harry repeats, looking up at the head of school. He’s not sure what that even means, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s something. It’s the detail that has been eluding him from the start, and now that he can see it, it’s so obvious he can’t believe he missed it. “Like, Malik, Tomlinson, and Grimshaw arrived first.” He points at the photo and only stumbles over Louis’ name slightly. “And then Calder arrived.” He points at that that photo. “Why? And she’s not seen coming out of the house. You said the cameras inside weren’t any use--was it because she left and came back for them?”

Simon is looking at him with a proud tilt to his mouth, but before Harry can bask in that at all, an out of breath Niall comes sliding into view. “There’s been another one,” he gets out, and the phone starts ringing. “Another murder.” He pauses. “It’s not very pretty.”

\--

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vic continues to be this thing’s other parent/midwife. Ryssa was head cheerleader. I’m very sorry about the cliffhangers I don’t do it on purpose. Masterpost can be found [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/104627195230/title-my-love-is-a-fortress-my-love-is-a) on my tumblr. Feel free to come ~~yell at me~~ say hi!


	3. Issue 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are finals. Everyone should listen to Once in a Lifetime for the end of this chapter.
> 
> Betaed by Vic, Melanie, and Sabrina. Britpicked by Jess. Minor oomph related consultations by Marta. All other mistakes are my own.

**Issue 3**

\--

**London: Present Day**

\--

As healers go, Harry wouldn’t say that Ed Sheeran was necessarily the best, but he definitely hadn’t deserved to be stabbed in the back. Certainly not multiple times, and certainly not left to bleed out halfway to his phone. It’s clumsy, inefficient, and downright cruel, and so while every piece of Harry bristles at the thought of having to reconcile the Louis he knew back at X-Factor with the man currently on a murdering spree, he can’t help but think that Louis wouldn’t do this. It’s absolutely not his style.

“Louis wouldn’t do this,” he says into the silence of Ed’s flat.

Nick’s over by a table going through Ed’s post, Taylor’s standing in the doorway, and Niall, Harry’s pretty sure, is hovering. None of them have said anything to him since they arrived on the scene, out of breath and not at all in the mood to deal with the police.

When Harry’s voice breaks the silence, they all look up and at each other, exchanging some sort of silent conversation that makes Harry’s skin itch. “What?” he says tonelessly, staring Niall down because Niall is his best mate and he has more luck breaking him. “You all have something to say?”

Niall’s brows pull together in a way that has Harry shuttering up his mental shields, and then wincing when his friend’s mouth pulls together. Right. Not half an hour past  Harry’d accidentally taken Niall’s powers. Right. He loosens his hold on the room and tries not to wince at the sharp stab of calm Niall throws at him.

“Well,” says Niall. “We all know you and Louis were....close.”

“I’ll say,” coughs Taylor.

Harry remembers vividly that she and Ed had been close at X-Factor, and winces.

“Anyway.” Niall rolls his eyes at Taylor. “The point is you like Louis.”

“Understatement of the year,” says Taylor.

Niall grabs the nearest thing to him and brandishes it threateningly. “I will throw this at you, Swift,” he says.

Taylor lifts both her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “Oh?”

Niall shakes the object in question. “Try me.”

Taylor cocks her hip and smirks. “Try _me_ ,” she says.

“Guys.” Harry clears his throat. “Murder?”

Taylor and Niall sober instantly. “Right,” says Niall. “Right--fuck. I liked Ed.”

“Me too,” Harry says quietly. “But--”

“Harold.” Nick comes to stand in front of him and takes Harry’s face in his hands. “The Louis Tomlinson who took your virginity is not the same Louis Tomlinson who murdered Louis Walsh and Ed Sheeran.” He gives Harry a shake. “Now can we move on?”

There’s a low beat.

“Nick,” hisses Taylor, sounding scandalized.

“Alright that’s enough of that,” says Niall, striding forward and pulling Harry away from Nick. “Do you need us for anything else?”

“Louis wouldn’t do this,” Harry says again, because he’s pretending that Nick hadn’t said that last bit. “He wouldn’t.”

“Harry,” says Taylor, sounding careful.

Harry’s expression sours, even as Nick shoots Taylor a knowing look as he goes back to Ed’s mail. “He fucking wouldn’t,” he mutters. “And he didn’t take my virginity.”

“Harry,” hisses Taylor, still sounding scandalized.

“Okay,” Niall says loudly. “Crime scene!” His voice is very high. “Harry and I are going to look at the crime scene.”

“But we already saw the crime scene,” Harry says a bit petulantly, even as he lets Niall drag him back towards Ed’s kitchen. “Louis wouldn’t kill someone in the kitchen,” he adds. Louis wouldn’t kill someone _full stop_.

Niall steps away from him like he’s some sort of skittish animal. He doesn’t look like he’s pitying, but Harry can feel the telltale creep of his friend’s emotions circling his brain.

“Get out of my head,” he says lowly. _He_ doesn’t even want to think about his own emotions, let alone expose Niall to them.

Niall’s hands come up in surrender, already on edge, and Harry is abruptly guilty.

Right. Niall’s powers. Right.

He swallows. “Sorry,” he mutters, shifting uneasily on the balls of his feet.

“Harry,” Niall says very delicately. “You know I loved Louis.”

He says it in the past tense, like he doesn’t still care, and Harry’s chest feels like Jade’s punched a hole to another universe through it, one where he never met Louis Tomlinson and decided he wanted to do something _other_ than crime fighting. Like. Singing, or something. Although he’d probably have still met Louis even then, because Harry still believes in soulmates, even with guilt humming through his veins and making his head hurt

“I’m not a child, Niall,” he says, sounding exhausted. 

Ed’s body is lying several meters from them, covered in one of Professor Teasdale’s force fields, glowing faintly blue and casting odd shadows round the kitchen and onto his back. Harry doesn’t look at him for longer than a second, stepping around the kitchen island to get some space back between him and Niall.

His hands clench into fists.

“I’m not saying you’re a child, Harry,” says Niall, sounding like he’s very wisely stayed on the other side of the room.

Harry can’t decide if it’s because of his storm cloud mood, or because of the whole power removal thing. “Louis wouldn’t do this,” he repeats, voice sounding like a broken record even to his own ears.

Niall sighs. “Haz,” he says. “We don’t know him anymore.”

Harry thrusts a hand out at Ed’s body. “What, you think three years on the run turned him into a coward?”

Niall bites his lip. “Haz,” he says.

Harry shrugs his grip off his shoulder and stalks around the kitchen. “Five steps,” he says. “It took Ed five steps to die, knife still stuck in his back, and you’re telling me you think Louis just stood there and _watched him_?”

“Harry--”

“And what?” Harry can’t stop now that he’s started. “Eleanor just stood by and watched?” He gestures at all of the broken bits of technology littering Ed’s flat--at the television still stuttering out static and the clock stuck flashing at 2:30 PM. “At the very least--” He stalks closer to Niall, and then away, around the island steadfastly refusing to let his voice do more than crack. “--if you’re so dead set on him being a murderer--” He swallows. “--don’t you think he’d have the foresight to be quick about it?”

Niall is still looking at him with pity glowing in his eyes. “It’s been three damn years, Haz,” he repeats. “A lot can change in three years.” He looks like he’s going to keep speaking, and Harry knows exactly where that road leads, and he hasn’t wanted to go down it once in the past three years.

Louis may be back, but Harry’s not about to go on that journey anytime soon.

His jaw snaps shut. “Right,” he says, trying not to think about how suddenly guilty he feels. “My mistake.”

“You’re right, though.” Niall still sounds cautious. “It was a sloppy kill.”

And isn’t that just. Ed is _dead_ , has been dead for several hours, was already dead by the time Harry was being woken up by Niall from dreams about Christmas Eve, for God’s sake, and Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself. He makes an ugly, wet noise in the back of his throat, and all of a sudden he’s wrapped up in Niall’s arms.

“Hazza,” Niall says. He’s hugging him without pause, never mind the power snatching, and Harry maybe sobs a little--just a bit--into the cradle of Niall’s shoulder.

 “Ni,” he says quietly, anger bleeding away into exhaustion.

“Shut your trap, Styles,” says Niall, sounding equally torn up about it. _He was my best mate, too_.

If Harry hugs Niall a bit tighter, no one has to know about it save Niall, and he obviously doesn’t mind.

“If you get tears all over my suit you’re doing the washing,” Niall says, after a pause.

Harry snorts and squeezes him tighter. “Love you, Nialler,” he says earnestly, letting his shields down just a tad so that Niall can feel how very much.

He expects some sort of response--Niall laughing, or blowing more happiness back at him, or even just hugging him tighter--but he gets nothing, and Harry’s insides go icy again.

“Shit, Ni,” he starts to say, apologies near tumbling out of his mouth, before he realizes Niall is laughing into his hair.

“Your face,” says Niall, laughing in earnest now. “I can’t even see your face but your fucking _face_.”

“Ha ha,” says Harry, trying to worm his way free from Niall’s arms. “You’re a wanker.”

Niall clings to him with surprising strength. “Nuh uh,” he says. “Not done yet.”

“ _Niall_.” Harry gives up on escape.

“Cuddles,” insists Niall, and slides a hand down to grope Harry’s bum.

“I’m starting to think you’re obsessed,” Harry tells him with barely concealed amusement, pulling away with a few helpless giggles.

“Your bum is pretty great, Harry, I cannot lie,” agrees Niall, lips twitching.

“I’ve seen better,” Harry says before he can stop himself, and the mood dies. There’s no Louis for the two of them to turn an appraising eye to, no Louis to scoff at them when he catches them staring, and no Zayn to roll his eyes or Liam to look mildly concerned when he finds them all wrestling on the floor.

Harry trains his eyes on the floor.

“Anyway,” he says.

There’s a cough from the doorway, and Harry looks up.

Professor Cowell is staring back at the two of them with an odd look on his face, Professor Teasdale standing behind him and smiling kindly at Harry, even as she drops the shield holding Ed as he was when he died. “Hello, Harry,” she says. “Niall.”

Harry manages a smile back, eyes still stuck on Simon’s raised eyebrow. His grin falters a little, some tiny part of him snarling at the idea that anyone might think Harry belongs to anyone other than Lou--

Harry kills that thought before it can finish and squares his shoulders. “Simon,” he says, nodding his head. “Lou.”

Lou smiles at him before back turning towards Simon.

“Are you really alright, Haz?” says Niall, when the two of them make their way back out towards the front door.

“Yeah,” says Harry.

\--

He has absolutely no idea how he’s done it, but several hours later it’s nearly 2 AM and Harry has successfully snuck out of the X-Factor mansion by way of Louis’ old bedroom window. He’s a bit worse for wear, having nearly fallen to his probably not doom several times, and his palms are still smarting from the brick, but Niall remains asleep and Harry is stood outside on the lawn.

He’s got the keys to Professor James’ motorcycle in one hand and his mobile and a bike helmet in the other, and _Niall is slowly waking up_ , because Harry’s starting to feel tired and ready to go back to sleep by proxy.

And that’s his cue to leave.

He books it off towards the shed where Professor James’ motorcycle has been staying ever since he rode it through a spot of mud and hasn’t gotten around to cleaning it enough for it to be allowed back in the garage with all of the fancy cars. (Harry’s fancy cars, since most of them are things he’d bought when he was young and angry and Simon was in a doting mood.)

He goes swerving around the fountain just as the moon lights him up for everyone to see, and Harry nearly slows to a halt because that’s the end of that, but Niall remains silent. After a moment, the window closes with an audible thud. Harry is probably high off adrenaline which is why he can hear it. He also can’t stop thinking about all the times Louis snuck out of his room to come visit him instead of just taking the hallway like any sane person might do. Sixteen year-old Harry had thought it was charming. Seventeen year-old Harry had as well. Eighteen year-old Harry was too busy trying to forget what Louis smelled like, and nineteen year-old Harry appears to be hung up on the little things.

But right. Professor James’ motorcycle.

Harry can totally ride a motorcycle.

\--

 He makes it to Ed’s flat with minimal stopping and panicking and cursing the fact that he’s decided to go ride through London after midnight, and parks the thing in the alley around the back. Ed used to have people over after a hard day’s fight, so Harry knows where the spare key is. Both spare keys, actually--the one for civilian friends and the one for mutants. He picks the former because he doesn’t think he’s up for seeing Ed’s lair, as it were, and is up into the building and slipping past the police tape before he can second guess himself.

Unlocking the door, though--that takes more self convincing. It’s not technically breaking and entering if the person is dead, Harry decides, and he needs to do this so he can sleep. Or at least, so he can stop waking up chasing after gloved fingers and sunny smiles.

Ed’s flat is dark, quiet, and something in Harry’s chest aches again once he’s inside. He shuts the door behind him with a deep sigh, steels himself, and thrusts his powers around him like a shield. Professor Corden’s told him enough times that the level of mental control Harry has over his abilities is striking, since most people with touch-based powers work on a purely physical level. But then, Harry’s never been like most people with touch-based powers, case in point--Louis.

Which is not really what Harry wants to be thinking about late at night, sneaking around the flat of his dead friend, but. Louis is something of a constant now that he’s back.

“Okay, then.” Harry heaves a long sigh and goes to investigate the crime scene again.

He gives himself three laps around the room--once to ascertain nothing has changed since they left that afternoon, once to search for clues towards why Louis’ gone off killing healers, and once because neither of his searches yield anything useful. After that’s done he visibly deflates, eyes darting around to the spaces Ed used to laugh in with something close to guilt bubbling around in his chest.

He just.

Louis wouldn’t _do_ this.

Harry sinks to the floor of Ed’s kitchen and sighs for what feels like the millionth time and pulls out his mobile to check the time. It’s nearly two now. Gemma is going to kill him.

He calls her anyway.

Harry’s sister is less than pleased about the late hour, but she picks up the phone anyway, grumbling into it about the time and fighting crime and something about an accident with a blender. That last bit is a bit worrying, so Harry pulls his mobile away from his ear for a moment, mouths, ‘blender’ like he’s not alone, before going back to his conversation.

“Gemma?” he says slowly.

“--and even though I have superhuman healing doesn’t mean I particularly like being sliced open--” says Gemma.

Harry pulls his phone away from his ear again for a moment.

“--anyway why’re you calling me so late--has someone died?” Gemma finishes when Harry tunes back in.

He swallows.

“Haz,” says Gemma.

“So, um, I don’t know how in the superhero know you are, Gem, but--” Harry starts to say.

“Is this about Louis Tomlinson because if so give me a minute to find some alcohol,” says his sister.

Harry blinks a few times.

“Back,” says Gemma, far too quickly to have actually grabbed anything. “Hit me.”

“I can’t hit you. I’m nowhere near you,” Harry says reflexively. “I mean what?”

Gemma pauses. “So I was joking about the alcohol thing,” she says slowly. “But I’m thinking I might actually need it.”

“I miss him,” says Harry, which is about as much as he’s said on the matter in three years. “All the time.”

Gemma sounds like she’s moving around. “Okay,” she says. “That’s fair. He was your best mate.”

“Don’t let Niall hear you say that.” Harry shifts a bit around so that he’s more solidly curled into a ball, head resting on top of his knees. “He’ll kill you.”

“He can try.” Gemma probably rolls her eyes. “Besides, back at X-Factor he was your biggest fan.”

Harry thinks back to telling Niall he liked Louis in hushed tones in the middle of the night and smiles. And then he remembers how not a day later he was getting dragged into the toilet they met in by a disgruntled and pink cheeked Louis, who rambled on about how Niall had wanted to speak to him about an urgent thing for two whole minutes before Harry gave up the ghost and kissed him.

He rests his cheek on his left knee and tries not to sigh too wistfully. “I miss X-Factor,” he says.

“You miss Louis,” Gemma corrects. “Old Louis. Non murdering Louis.”

Harry’s smile slides off his face. “I, um,” he says. “I went back to Ed’s place.”

Gemma’s voice goes serious. “Harry,” she says.

“I wanted to be sure that it was really him, Gems,” Harry tries to explain. “Like. Really, _really_ him.”

“Harry,” says his sister.

“Anyway, enough about me,” Harry powers through with only a mild grimace. “How are things for you?”

“Well.” If Gemma can see right through his subject change, she doesn’t show it. “Sophia accidentally sliced me open with a blender.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. See--”

Harry falls asleep like that with his head between his knees, curled up in the dark in his murdered friend’s apartment, while his big sister natters on about the latest thing her clumsy roommate had done.

\--

“Fucking fuck shits!”

The door slams closed with a loud thud and Harry’s head comes up instantly. He’s not alone in the flat anymore is the first thing he notices. Whoever is with him is cursing up a storm is the second thing. Thirdly, it’s morning now. In fact, when Harry checks his phone, he finds it’s gone and died. Hopefully Gemma had hung up before that happened, and wasn’t texting him to make sure he hasn’t gone and been murdered like Ed.

The fourth thing is in the back of Harry’s mind, but he doesn’t have time to think on it because _he’s not alone in the flat anymore_.

Harry sucks in a deep breath and tries not to breathe too loudly.

“He’s definitely dead, Z,” a terrifyingly familiar voice is saying into a phone as a familiar figure comes into view, striding into the kitchen and staring hard at the space outlining where Ed’s body had lain. “Really, bloody fucking dead.” There’s a pause, then--whomever is on the other line saying _something_ \--and the figure is almost laughing, shaking his head and going to respond. “What do you mean--?”

Harry wants to laugh, because of course Louis sounds exactly as exasperated by Zayn as he’s always been; Harry wants to laugh, because it’s _Louis_. It’s not very hard to hold his breath anymore. 

“I don’t know--if I knew, do you think I would be calling you--?” Louis snarls at Zayn, stalking further into the kitchen and twisting around so that he’s facing Harry.

The moment their eyes meet, the entire space goes silent enough you could hear a pin drop in outer space. In fact, Harry can hear Zayn’s voice all the way over by the wall, tinny and angry and small.

“I’ve gotta go, Z,” says Louis, and hangs up on Zayn mid sentence.

Harry stares back at him with his heart in his stomach. “Hi,” he manages faintly.

“Hi,” Louis repeats, sounding equally unsure, stuffing his phone into one pocket. His hair is soft around his ears today, not quiffed up like it’d been in the surveillance photos, and he’s dressed in a soft t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He looks nearly like he did three years ago, plus or minus a few wrinkles, cares, and stubble.

Harry’s throat goes a little dry at the sight.

“You’re here,” says Louis. “In Ed’s flat.”

Harry looks around a bit redundantly. “So I am,” he says. “So are you.”

Louis purses his lips. “Why are you in Ed’s flat?” he starts to ask.

Harry gets to his feet before he can really finish, shrugging out the kinks in his shoulders and wincing at the pull in his lower back--what he gets for sleeping curled up on a tile floor. “Why are _you_ in Ed’s flat?” he asks Louis, reaching up to stifle a yawn in one hand. “Shouldn’t you be like. Fleeing as far as possible from the scene of the crime?”

“Shouldn’t _I_ be fleeing as far as possible from the scene of the crime?” says Louis, going sharp in a millisecond. His eyes get that much darker and his cheekbones that much starker and Harry is way too tired and emotionally compromised to be dealing with this.

“Yeah, like. Supervillain 101. Don’t get caught  revisiting your own crime scenes,” he says, cracking his back a few times and wincing.

“Supervillain 101,” repeats Louis. “My crime scenes.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice goes up a bit at the end. He starts walking closer to Louis before he can stop himself, and then he really _can’t_ stop himself, not until he’s got Louis pinned up against the island with their faces a hair-breadths apart.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice has gone high and thin. “What are you doing?”

Harry doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he doesn’t answer, focusing instead on the skin of Louis’ jaw. He’s definitely got stubble all along his jaw now. And one tiny cut from shaving. Harry’s reaching up to touch before he can stop himself, fingers tracing along the line of Louis’ throat like this isn’t their first meeting in three years.

Louis’ Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, something near a whine escaping his lips before his jaw clenches, and Harry notices for the first time the gloves all up Louis’ arms and covering his hands. They’re faintly pink at the tips. Bloody.

Harry stares down at them for a long moment, heart suddenly thudding in his chest because Louis probably hasn’t been touched in _years_.

And then the rest of that image catches up with him, and he’s sliding his hands down to grip Louis’ shoulders through the thin material of his shirt. “You killed Ed,” he says, voice cracking down the middle. “You stabbed him in the back _three times_.”

Louis’ eyes narrow and he shoves Harry away from him, hands coming up defensively. “What the hell are you _talking_ about, Hazza--?” he starts to say.

“Don’t call me that,” Harry snarls, going to grab him once more. “You don’t get to call me that anymore you son of a--”

Louis never used to be the stronger of the two, but apparently he’s not above fighting dirty, because he’s hitting Harry in the solar plexus and out of the flat before Harry can regroup. “Louis!” he shrieks, because he’s an idiot, stumbling after him before he can rethink it. “Louis--Tomlinson!”

Louis’ gone by the time he gets back out to the front of Ed’s building, disappeared into the rush of passersby, and Harry nearly curses before he catches sight of him. It makes something ugly twist in his gut, Louis with his arms pulled in tight to his body worming his way through people and trying not to touch anyone, but Harry doesn’t think about that. He stumbles into a run, darting back around towards the motorcycle and slamming the helmet on his head.

“Tomlinson!” he repeats, catching Louis’ attention, and the other man’s eyes widen briefly in shock, before he knocks a man out the way and is off towards the nearest bus. He hails it with barely any time to lose, striding up behind the closing door and standing at the front of it, staring at Harry with wide eyes before he’s swallowed up by London’s traffic.

Harry snaps his teeth around thin air and scowls, debates leaving the bike here, and memorizes the bus number.

Several awkward phone calls to Perrie later, Harry has the location of Louis’ hotel. It’s halfway across London; good thing Harry has Professor James’ motorcycle.

\--

“You have a motorcycle?” is the first thing Louis says to him once Harry’s finished picking the lock and is striding angrily into the room with a scowl.

He’s sat on one of the twin beds, near empty suitcase next to him, clothes strewn about on the floor. Harry can already feel a headache forming behind his temples. “I see you haven’t gotten any cleaner,” he says with barely restrained anger. “Arsehole.”

Louis just stares back at him without moving. “No, seriously,” he says. “Since when can you drive a motorcycle?” He kicks off his shoes when he’s finished his sentence, peels off his socks-- _socks_ , Harry’s treacherous brain notes--and balls them up one by one. After a moment, he tosses one towards the other clothes on the floor.

Harry’s mouth falls open and he stops.

“You’re far too clumsy for a motorcycle,” Louis continues, chucking the other sock ball to join its mate, and Harry snaps.

He goes snarling across the room before he can stop himself, gathering Louis’ assortment of dirty clothes and stuffing them into what is probably supposed to be the washing basket. “Stop trying to distract me!” he says as he does so, refusing to meet Louis’ eyes even as he grabs a few of the empty takeaway boxes and goes to throw them out as well.

“I’m distracting you,” Louis says dryly, sounding almost amused. He probably is amused, probably thinks it’s oh so funny that baby Harry still cleans up after him, and Harry’s blood feels like it’s on fire.

He finishes with the boxes with a scowl, slamming the bin shut and practically flinging it back on the floor before striding back over so that he’s facing Louis on the bed. “I’m taking you in,” he snaps, slapping a hand around Louis’ bicep and squeezing.

Louis’ breath does that hitching thing again, his heart rate picking up and his eyes going wide. “What?” he says.

Harry ignores him. “Get up,” he starts to say, tugging on Louis’ arm a little bit. In the process, his hand slides down to just before the fabric of Louis’ gloves gives way to skin.

The world feels like it’s stopped, nothing but the warmth of Louis’ breath against Harry's chest and the rush of Harry’s blood in his ears. This was a bad idea. Harry should have called for backup or thrown a blanket at Louis and smuggled him into the hall that way, or something, because touching Louis was a terrible idea.

There’s something almost poetic about how Harry doesn’t, how he tightens his grip on Louis’ arm and slides his hand down even further, waiting, because Louis attracts powers and Harry repels them and even with three years and a murder between them, they can’t seem to stop _touching_ each other.

Louis doesn’t disappoint, getting an almost daredevil glint in his eye, before he shifts his shoulders back just so that the tips of Harry’s fingers are brushing warm flesh.

“Hazza,” says Louis, and Harry is kissing him before he’s finished that sentence.

Louis kisses him back like he’s starving for it, hands wild in Harry’s hair and body bucking up off the bed, so Harry slides both his hands up to better grip at his biceps, thumbs brushing over the skin there until Louis shudders and _sighs_ , mouth falling open.

“I missed you,” he starts to say when they pull apart for air.

“Shut up,” says Harry, because he doesn’t want to think about words right now, doesn’t want to think about much of anything besides the taste of Louis’ mouth and the thrum of blood in his veins. It’s been three fucking years. “Shut up shut up shut up--” Harry continues to say, shoving Louis back down on the bed and climbing into his lap. “Shut up shut up shut up--” Louis looks like he’s going to actually say something. “Shut up--” 

Harry’s skin feels like it’s falling apart at the seams and his chest feels empty, and Louis can’t seem to help himself, scrabbling against Harry’s shoulders and near sobbing when Harry gets a hand down to stroke at the skin of his hips.

“Shut up,” Harry says again, more than a little mesmerized by the arch of Louis’ back as his head drops more solidly back against the bed. He trails his fingers along the skin there, blinking slowly as Louis moans, long and drawn out. He looks absolutely gorgeous, five o’clock shadow and everything. Harry’s chest _aches_.

He knows this is a terrible idea. This isn’t going to solve anything except for the erection in his jeans, but God, it feels wonderful. Louis is just so expressive, eyes shut and brow furrowing and whimpering at the slightest little tickle of Harry’s fingertips. It makes something terrible and jealous in Harry purr, the idea that Louis hadn’t gone off and gotten more control and fucked his way through most of the supervillain community in those past three years. That something of Louis is still his, even though they’re as good as enemies at this point. He walks his fingers all around Louis’ hips with morbid fascination, cataloguing the little flinches and twitches each stroke of skin on skin gets him, before sliding on hand down to cup Louis through his trackie bottoms.

“How long has it been?” he asks, unable to help himself. “One year? Two years?” He strokes his other hand up to play with Louis’ nipples, thumbing over one until Louis gets an arm up over his mouth and bites down. “Three years?” Harry leans in so that his mouth is right besides Louis’ ear. “Has it been three years, Lou?”

Louis gasps, hips humping up and eyes falling shut as he freezes against the bed. Harry would think he was coming, but a glance downwards shows that’s not true, even as Louis’ toes curl and his lashes flutter against his cheekbones. Harry’s almost worried about it, because Louis is definitely still hard, but before he can say anything, the other man is pulling his arm away from his mouth and meeting Harry’s eyes.

“There’s nothing romantic about hospitals, Haz,” he says, and Harry’s mouth snaps shut.

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses, because the nickname is safer than thinking about the night Louis told him about kissing his girlfriend, Hannah, and how he’d left her nearly comatose. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” He reaches down to grab Louis by the hips and shove him up towards the top of the bed, depositing him with his head on the pillow and climbing up so that he can kiss him quiet.

“Haz--” Louis tries to say anyway, so Harry bites him hard on the mouth till he tastes blood and then soothes the ache away with his tongue.

“Don’t call me that,” he says again.

Louis very wisely keeps his mouth shut. And then he very wisely keeps his mouth open, suckling on Harry’s lower lip and curling one leg around Harry’s until their hips line up just so.

“Don’t call me that,” Harry says again, as he breaks away from Louis’ lips to pull his top over his head.

Louis ditches his own t-shirt without prompting, falling back on his elbows and staring up at Harry like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. It looks far too much like affection for Harry’s taste, so he leans down to nip at one of Louis’ collarbones.

“Fuck--Haz--” Louis groans out, one hand coming up to grip at Harry’s head. It feels weird with the gloves on, latex where there should be skin, so Harry pulls away from the blooming marks he’s left on Louis’ neck with a scowl.

“Off,” he decides, hauling one of the gloves down Louis’ arm and leaving it limp around his wrist before turning to the other.

Louis falters, mouth opening in protest, so Harry leans back up and kisses him again. He gets a bit distracted when he does that, Louis’ lips and Louis’ tongue and Louis’ _Louis_ all warm and gorgeous and pliant and _glorious_ and far too much for his brain to start working again, but he pulls back after only a few wasted moments.

“Off,” he repeats.

Louis tugs the gloves off with only minimal frowning.

And that’s really not fair, is it, because Harry is so angry at Louis--so, terribly, terribly angry--and there is an ugly lion in his chest that had been sleeping since the moment Louis was gone and it’s just not _fair_ , because he so much as pouts and Harry wants to curl up on his chest and cuddle the sadness far away. Wants to buy Niall beers for the rest of his life so long as he keeps Louis from frowning, never mind Niall would smack him, never mind _Louis_ would smack him.

Harry whines into Louis’ neck, hands scrabbling across the duvet mindlessly. “What do you do to me?” he mumbles, too quiet for Louis to hear, before he’s sitting up.

Louis stares back up at him with his eyes nearly black all around, a faint line of blue barely visible around the edges. His fringe is sticking this way and that, sweat making him glisten, and there are marks all over his neck and chest.

Harry wants to lock him in a room and take pictures of him for ages.

He settles for peeling down the bed until he’s level with Louis cock, hard and tenting up his trackie bottoms.

“Fuck,” Louis says, as Harry mouths over the wet patch, head coming up, and then slamming back down. “Fuck-- _Haz_.”

Harry would tell him off again for the nickname, but his mouth is watering and his jaw is aching by proxy and all he wants to do is swallow Louis’ cock down and let him fuck his mouth for ages. Something of that must show on his face, because the other man is whining, feet thudding against the bed as he works about getting his hips up and his joggers down. Harry pulls back the bare minimum to watch.

“Fucking--Harry!” Louis groans out, once it becomes clear Harry isn’t going to do anything but look at him. He gets a leg free, the other pant leg stuck dangling off one ankle in a clump.

Harry peels off his own pants and trousers as well, feeling very suddenly overdressed. He thinks he should say something, but before he can, Louis is reaching down with one hand to wrap around his cock, head dropping back and hips jerking up.

Harry watches him for a few moments, breath coming in faint gasps and eyes following the slide of Louis’ hand up over the tip of his cock. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, can’t seem to stop the twitch of his hands, itching to be touching Louis again, to _always_ to be touching Louis--to crawl deep inside him and never leave--

But then Louis gives the head a few painful looking strokes, thumbing over the precome gathering at the tip, and Harry is leaning down to taste before he can stop himself.

Louis howls, hips coming up off the bed and he comes suddenly and with absolutely no warning, leaving Harry aching and hard against the bed and struggling to swallow.

“Fucking _Harry_ ,” Louis says again, once he’s caught his breath. He’s jumpy and pink in the cheeks, looking absolutely wrecked. Every time Harry so much as touches him, his entire body shakes, the overload of sensation after three years of nothing making him touch starved and desperate. Because it _has_ been three years for him--Harry is sure of that. The gloves and the hesitance and the coming the moment Harry got his mouth on him says that much.

Harry’s jealousy is pleased as you like, on its back and practically vibrating with pleasure; Harry decides to get his mouth back on Louis.

When he does so, Louis makes a pained noise and his eyes fall shut, but he doesn’t shy away from the touch. It must nearly hurt at this point, so soon after coming, but Louis lets Harry get away with it anyway, blinking furiously and staring down at Harry with his mouth open as Harry hollows his cheeks and applies the barest amount of suction.

He’s getting hard again.

Harry’s cock gives a sympathetic twitch.

“Wanna ride you,” he decides, pulling off with a pop and shifting up onto the bed so that he’s hovering over Louis on both knees. “Where’s your lube?”

Louis points him towards the suitcase with a shaking hand, looking more than a little overwhelmed, so Harry kisses him a bit as a distraction. It starts out nice and easy, barely there presses of their lips and tiny breaths in between, but Harry doesn’t want nice and easy. Not when he’s going to have to take Louis to see Simon as soon as this is over. Not when Louis is a murderer. He bites down on Louis’ lip again and Louis hisses.

“Lube,” Harry decides, going to retrieve it. “We need lube.”

“Right,” Louis agrees, as Harry comes back to the bed with the lube and two wet fingers.

He settles himself back hovering over Louis, working his hips back on those two fingers with practiced ease, hissing minimally at the stretch. He’s being rougher with himself than he would usually, and Louis picks up on that, hands coming up to touch like he can’t help it.

“Hazza,” he says.

Harry growls at him and slaps his hands away, slipping a leg down between them and grinding it against Louis’ cock until Louis is whimpering against the bed. “Don’t call me that.”

Louis just nods, staring up at Harry like he’s only just seeing him for the first time as Harry reaches down to line them up. And then Harry stops, heart dropping into his stomach and goes stumbling back towards the suitcase. “Condom,” he says, not meeting Louis’ eyes.

“Front pocket,” Louis says, sounding oddly subdued.

Harry grabs the packet without comment, suddenly furious with himself for feeling guilty. How dare Louis make him feel guilty, like he was in the wrong for sleeping with other people once the love of his life was as good as dead and gone. Like it was his fault. Like Louis hadn’t fucking _left_.

“Shut up,” he says, sliding the condom down and on and then lifting his hips. “Shut _up_.”

Louis doesn’t shut up, body coming alive the instant Harry starts sinking down. He gets his hands on Harry’s thighs, plants his feet against the bed, and pulls just so that the tip of his cock is resting against Harry’s prostate. It’s fucking ridiculous how in tune Louis is with his body, but Harry isn’t about to get upset because it’s also wonderful.

Louis is snapping his hips up with near perfect rhythm, hands warm and comforting on Harry’s thighs and barely there moans making Harry’s head swim. “Louis,” he moans out before he can stop himself, falling forward in search of Louis’ mouth and getting distracted when his cock drags against Louis’ abs. “Louis.”

Louis kisses him like he understands and lets go of Harry’s thighs so that he can rake his nails along Harry’s shoulder blades. “Touch me,” he whimpers out.

When Harry forces his eyes open he finds Louis’ tightly shut, muscles in his neck straining and the shuddering from before more pronounced than ever. “It’s really been three years,” says Harry, like he can’t quite believe it, and Louis’ eyes snap open.

“Of course it’s been three fucking years, Harold,” he says, wit and tongue sharp as ever. “I’m not exactly into necrophilia.”

“Shame,” Harry moans out like a moth to flame or a man starving in a dessert. He can’t help himself--it has to be near Pavlovian, at this point, how Louis so much as quips at Harry and Harry responds in turn. “Could have asked Luke for a threesome.”

Louis rolls the both of them over so that Harry’s the one on the bottom, making the angle that much better. “Can we not talk about my associates in bed, Harold,” says Louis, and right. Luke works with Louis. Luke is a villain. _Louis_ is a villain. Louis killed Ed. Louis--

Louis is infuriatingly good with his hips, varying the strength behind each thrust until Harry is gasping and moaning and trying very hard not to come in under two minutes. He gets a hand free and slaps it across Louis’ back a few times, and when that does nothing, reaches up and grabs him by the hair and yanks until the other man stills.

“What?” Louis whines, shifting his hips a little bit so that his cock nudges against Harry’s prostate.

Harry sucks in a deep breath and _does not_ kiss him. “Pull out,” he says, and before Louis can protest, “Wanna be on my hands and knees.” _I don’t know if I want to see you when I come_ , is what he doesn’t say, but Louis must hear it. There’s no way Louis doesn’t hear it, but he does it anyway, letting Harry roll over and muffle his groans into the pillow without speaking.

He comes a few moments later, nearly chewing through Harry’s neck in the process and wrapping a hand around Harry’s cock to help him along.

Harry can’t really help but kiss him then, torn between his body’s cry for more and his mind’s cry for him to get out while he’s still kicking.

Afterwards, they lay there in mild silence, Harry trying very hard not to think about what he has to do once they get out of bed, and Louis’ fingers tracing along the line of tattoos Harry’s got down his arm. He ends up stuck on the _hi_ tattoo, index finger going over and over the strokes of his own handwriting like some sort of terrible, sentimental hypnotism, before Harry reaches up to smack his hand away.

“Stop that,” he says, rolling around to face Louis on the bed and then wincing when he ends up on the condom. He reaches back to grab that and chuck it off towards the bin.

Louis’ eyes catch on the butterfly across his stomach when he does that, and Harry ends up staring at the script he has curling across his chest in response. It’s almost comical, watching Louis’ eyes dart from the butterfly to the ship and finally to the anchor, but Harry holds his breath and pointedly says nothing.

After a moment, Louis breaks the silence. “You’ve got a little...” He reaches out and thumbs over Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry flinches away from him before he can stop himself and Louis pulls his hand back.

“Sorry.”

“Thanks,” Harry says into the awkward silence. He’s not angry anymore, all the pain and sorrow from earlier having bled away into exhaustion with his orgasm, but he can already feel another headache coming because as much as he would like to lie down and have a proper sleep, he has things to do. Justice to be sought.

Louis settles back down onto his side, rolling so that he’s facing away from Harry. “I’m going to sleep, now,” he decides, when Harry shows no signs of speaking. “Good night.”

“It’s afternoon,” Harry says, because he doesn’t know how to say anything else. ‘ _You murdered one of our best friends in cold blood_ ’ isn’t exactly the best post-sex conversation.

Louis makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He looks very cold all of a sudden and even Harry shivers a little at the faint breeze running through the room.

He should get to his feet, get dressed, dress Louis, and then call Niall from Louis’ phone so that they can deal with this.

Harry does none of those things, draping an arm across Louis’ waist, snuggling in close to the back of his neck, and letting the other man link their fingers together.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again. Please don’t kill me. Masterpost can be found [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/105202933650/title-my-love-is-a-fortress-my-love-is-a). ~~Everyone should reblog it it would make me very happy.~~


	4. Issue 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I had to celebrate the holidays and see all my High School friends before I’m going abroad. (Which is in like two weeks, screeches) 
> 
> Betaed by Vic, Sabrina, and Melanie. Britpicked by Jade. I have no knowledge of tattoos and I did my best but Sabrina yelled a lot. As did Melanie. It should be okay now. Hopefully. All other mistakes are my own.

**Issue 4**

\--

**The Middle of Nowhere But Probably--Hopefully--London: 2011**

\--

“We’re fucking _lost_ ,” hisses Harry, from where he’s been following in Louis’ footsteps for the entire three minute trek out of the tube station and off towards the tattoo parlor that Zayn’s friend owns. “You _fucker_.”

“No,” says Louis. “I know exactly where we’re going.”

“Where even _are_ we?” says Harry, trying not to be too worried. “Do _you_ even know where we are?” They’re in the middle of nowhere. Harry curses the fact that he’d never been out of Holmes Chapel before moving to the manor, and also the fact that Simon had never been too inclined towards field trips.

“We’re in London,” says Louis, striding along like he owns the city. “I think. Well. Probably London.”

“Probably--”

“ _Hopefully_ London,” continues Louis. “I mean it’s not like we misread the signs--”

“Comforting,” says Harry, rolling his eyes. “We should have brought Zayn--he knows where we’re going.”

“Zayn’s the distraction,” Louis says with all the patience of one who’s been saying the same thing all day. He has, because Harry hadn’t been all that interested in sneaking out, even though the idea of getting _matching tattoos_ had been particularly enchanting. Mostly, Harry remembers the last time he and Louis had been on the receiving end of a lecture.

“Yeah, Lou, I know,” says Harry, shaking his head. “I still think we could have let Liam do it.”

“Payno’s appalling at control, Haz,” says Louis. “He’d have burned the whole place down.”

“I’m telling him you said that,” Harry replies, but Louis has a point. “Regardless. We’re bloody _lost_ , Louis.”

Louis just keeps walking and ignoring Harry’s concern. “Hazza, come on,” he says, reaching back to better tangle their fingers together. “We’re not lost--look, it’s just there.”

He points off towards the shop, which looks dark, and foreboding, and exactly like a mutant tattoo parlor ought to look, Harry supposes. He tightens his grip on Louis’ fingers.

“You said you made an appointment?”

“Zayn did,” Louis explains, coming to a stop at the zebra crossing and pursing his lips. “He said Ant and Danny would be fine with my, erm.” He breaks off, suddenly sounding unsure.

Harry curls their fingers together more soundly and squeezes. “’s why you brought me, innit?” he says, voice a little bit wobbly.

Technically Louis’ supposed to be wearing his gloves, because he never leaves the X-Factor mansion without them, but Harry’d spent the entire train ride convincing him to take at least _one_ of them off. Louis had given in, because Harry might have used his dimples, but also because they’ve never been very good at not touching since they discovered they could. Even back before they were properly together they were always touching. Mostly it was just that Louis had been the opposite of Harry’s late bloomer and had spent most of his childhood unable to touch anyone. And Harry was never one to pass up on cuddles.

It still makes Harry have to hide a grin when Louis squeezes back. “Well, _yeah_ ,” he says. “But don’t think you’re getting out of this by pretending to be my moral support, Styles.” He squeezes Harry’s hand once more before tugging him across the white stripes towards the shop.

“Of course not,” Harry replies, thumbing over Louis’ pulse point and hiding another grin when Louis shakes a little.

“It’d be a bit dumb for me to get ‘oops’ on me arm without you getting ‘hi’,” Louis continues. “Completely ruins the romance. And the story.”

Harry’s grip on Louis’ hand tightens to the point where it must be painful, but Louis just holds him back. “Louis,” he says.

It’s not the first time they’ve talked about it since they conceived the idea. Niall’d been in one of those moods where everyone who so much as blinked at him was orgasmically elated, and Harry and Louis had holed up in Louis and Zayn’s room to escape the awkwardness of seeing their professors and people they looked up to hiding boners. Because ever since the first time Louis’d come back from a shower and gotten wrapped up in said orgasmically elated mood and shouted, “of for _God’s sake_ , Niall, do you want me to cream me pants?” at the top of his lungs, Niall’s taken that statement too literally.

Anyway, the point is that Harry and Louis had been alone and the only ones without Niall-induced boners, and Louis had been playing with the skin on the inside of Harry’s arm and going on about how sick his star tattoo was and how upset he was that Harry’d gone and got one _without_ him, and then somehow they decided they wanted to get the first words they’d ever said to each other etched onto their skin forever.

Harry’d drawn a stickman on Louis’ forearm and then written ‘ _oops!_ ’ when Louis’ noticed, and then  Louis had taken up one of Zayn’s spare sharpies and written ‘ _Hi_ ’ on Harry’s arm just below the star and the next thing they knew they both had _not Niall-induced_ boners and two weeks later here they were, sneaking into a tattoo parlor and trying to look entirely innocent.

Harry’s not even legally allowed, is the thing.

But Harry’s a mutant who’s already got a tattoo, and Zayn said that Ant and Danny were totally chill with it, so it should be fine.

And Louis’ legal.

Louis’ left Harry by the door to strike up a conversation with the guy stood at the front counter, who is probably Ant, based on Zayn’s description.

He’s surprisingly bare of tattoos for a tattoo artist, but he’s also strikingly young, and the way he’s looking at Louis makes something jealous settle into Harry’s chest.

He comes up behind Louis and takes his hand again, trying not to look too smug when Louis immediately relaxes.

“It’s why I brought Haz, here,” Louis is saying, giggling a little when Harry wraps his arm solidly around his waist and pulls them flush to each other. “He, um. Negates powers.”

“Negates powers,” Harry repeats, trying for cool and ending up amused.

Louis smacks him with the hand still covered in the glove. “Shut up,” he says. “How would you describe it, then?”

“Well I wouldn’t go around telling strangers,” says Harry, and then he shoots Ant an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Zayn’s friend waves a hand. “No problem, bro,” he says. His accent’s definitely Bradford, like Zayn’s. “Zayn said something about some script?”

Harry turns expectantly to Louis, because it was his idea in the first place, and finds the older lad staring back at him with suspiciously shiny eyes.

“Um, matching ones?” he says, voice going up at the end. “Like, um. The first thing Harry here said to me was ‘oops,’ so.” He starts tracing the spot where Harry’d written the word on his arm almost subconsciously.

Ant is just letting Louis talk, even though he already knows what they want since Zayn had told him over the phone while Louis chased him around the room red in the face. He’s actually almost smiling about it, and Harry should feel embarrassed, because who even gets matching tattoos.

“You’ll have to take your glove off, Lou,” he says quietly.

“Right.” Louis peels the bit of latex off without a backwards glance. “Like this, see--” he starts to say, before what he’s done catches up with him.

Harry slides his hand down more firmly to hold onto his wrist, rubbing over the bone there and reminding Louis that he’s not in danger of taking anyone’s powers or life energy.

“I want ‘ _Hi_ ’ in my right armpit,” he says. “In his handwriting.”

“Harry!” Louis protests, even as he’s gone a bit pink in the cheeks. “Not in your _armpit_.”

Harry just waggles his eyebrows a little and tugs Louis closer to him so that they’re lined up hip to hip.

“You’re not about to set an angry Simon Cowell on me, are you?” says Ant finally, after he’s finished sizing the two of them up and grinning like he’s going to call Zayn and tell him every single thing that happened. Seeing as Zayn’s currently running around the mansion shrieking loud enough to break everything glass, well. Harry figures he deserves to hold this over them.

“That depends,” says Louis. “How much do you trust Malik?”

And Ant throws his head back and laughs, before gesturing the two of the over towards one of the tattoo stations. “Which one of you’s going first?”

\--

**London: Present Day**

\--

Harry wakes up entirely wrapped around Louis to the sound of what he’s pretty sure is _Trumpets_ by Jason DeRulo. He’s still too out of it to tell for certain, but there’s definitely a horn blaring in the background, and when he blinks open one eye--yep, Louis’ mobile is vibrating over on the bedside table and Jason DeRulo is singing about trumpets.

Harry debates going back to sleep.

 _Every time that you get undressed_ , sings Jason DeRulo, before he can. _I hear symphonies in my head_.

Harry wouldn’t have thought that of all the songs to have his ringtone changed to--because there is no way Louis has voluntarily done this--Zayn would have picked _Wiggle_ ‘cause like. Big fat butts.

Harry maybe winds a hand down to the arse in question and gropes it a little.

And then he wakes the fuck up, because he’s still in Louis’ hotel room and his phone is still ringing.

“Fuck,” Harry says. His hand is still on Louis’ naked bum. _Double fuck_.

“Mmmm turn it off,” agrees Louis, not opening his eyes, and not seeming all that bothered by the groping. He’s probably not awake enough to be bothered, but Harry isn’t sure if he wants to stick around for later. For when Louis freaks the fuck out, because he slept with the enemy and also Harry is _touching_ him.

“Can’t do that if you don’t let go of me, Lou,” he says quietly, the nickname slipping out before he can help himself. And, God, doesn’t that make Harry some sort of hypocrite, since he hadn’t been able to get his mouth to stop telling Louis off for the same thing last night.

This morning.

Louis rolls off of Harry’s arm and snuggles further into the pillows, definitely not awake now. His back is long and golden and free of marks, save the back of his neck, which has bruises in the shape of Harry’s teeth forming just below his hairline. Harry has to fight the urge to set his teeth back into those impressions.

When Louis’ mobile starts the song again, he slaps a hand out to grab it, snorting at Zayn’s contact name, and clicks the decline call button. He doesn’t do it to be vindictive, but Harry would be lying if he said that Louis having to deal with a less than pleased Zayn Malik makes him want to giggle.

Harry switches the phone to silent for bonus giggles and turns back towards the Louis shaped lump in the bed. He’s definitely gone back to sleep because he’s snoring faintly, and it’s adorable, listening to the little in and outs of his breath. Harry smirks, because he’d only have to nudge Louis slightly to have him sounding like a chainsaw. And then Harry nearly bites his tongue off, because Louis is the enemy.

And Harry slept with him in the biblical sense, slept with him in the bedtime sense, and is now reminiscing about his sleeping habits.

Triple fuck.

Harry takes a moment to stare at the ceiling and count to ten. He just has to get dressed, get out of the hotel, find Professor James’ motorcycle, call his mum and Gemma, _call Niall_ , and get back to the mansion in one piece.

Everything should be fine.

His jeans are over on the other side of the room and Harry traipses over to them as quietly as he can, trying not to notice how much nicer the room looks without all of Louis’ shit everywhere; how much less it looks like just Louis’ hotel room as opposed to _Harry_ and Louis’ hotel room.

Harry maybe pauses for a moment to put his head in his hands, but he’s justified in doing that.

By the time he’s dressed, Louis hasn’t so much as stirred, Zayn’s called back two times and resorted to texting menacing emojis, and Harry is no less panicked than he was before.

He stares down at Louis, at the bare strip of skin on his right arm where the word ‘ _oops!’_ is still penned in Harry’s own handwriting, and tugs the duvet up so that it’s better covering him. Of course, that just brings Harry in contact with the rope wound around his wrist, and Harry’s nails are biting into his palm before he can stop himself.

He doesn’t kiss Louis behind the hair like he wants to.

Harry thinks that’s deserving of an award in of itself.

\--

“Where the fuck have you been?” says Niall the moment Harry’s gone stomping up the stairs and is about to open the doors to the mansion. He comes out of nowhere, arms crossed across his chest and staring at Harry with a faint twitch to his eye.

He’s got plain clothes on and his hair’s not been gelled and he looks like he hasn’t slept much since Harry woke him on his way out, but the shrewdness behind the glance he levels at Harry is knowing and far too observant.

Harry is suddenly very self conscious, shoving a hand up to mess with his hair and trying to smile. Of course when he does that, Niall’s eyes zero in on his hand, and then they zero in on Harry’s neck, and Harry tries very frantically to remember if Louis had left marks.

“Harry _Styles_ ,” says Niall.

Louis left marks.

Harry eyes Professor James’ motorcycle, which is sitting sadly near one of the hedges looking only a little worse for having spent the night in London. Maybe he should just book it. Take said motorcycle and flee the premises before Niall can so much as start to question him.

He manages something of a smile. “Niall Horan?”

Niall doesn’t look like he wants to string Harry up by his ears anymore, but he also looks way too invested in Harry’s non-existent love life. Or, not really non-existent. Murderous love life?

“What is _that_?” Niall very well knows what “that” is, but he’s also a massive _twat_ , so Harry just frowns at him and pulls at his t-shirt collar. It’s-- It’s actually Louis’ t-shirt, now that Harry thinks about it. He must have grabbed it by accident, which is just _unfair_ , because Harry had tidied up Louis’ hotel room. If he was going to be moderately domestic with his ex-boyfriend-turned murderer the least he could do would be to _not_ show up back home doing the literal walk of shame.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” Harry tells Niall, who has spent the past few seconds staring at him with barely contained glee.

“Mmmm.” Niall rocks back on his heels a few times.

Harry tries to smile past the guilt in the pit of his stomach.

“I was going to ask you where you’ve been and what you were doing.” says Niall, coming around and slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders, seemingly unconcerned with how tightly wound Harry is, and how he’s essentially flying blind on the emotion front. “But I think a more telling question would be _who_ you were doing.” Niall gives Harry another long squeeze before clapping his hands. “He’s back!” he announces.

Harry, who’d gotten nearly choked in the whole clapping hands process, barely manages to stay upright as the giant doors come heaving open and an entire gaggle of mutants end up parading out to meet the two of them. They all seem rather enchanted with Niall and more than a little hesitant about Harry, and Harry snuffs out his powers automatically. That appears to be Niall’s goal, because his friend shoots Harry a particularly smug look, no doubt rifling through Harry’s emotions like no one’s business.

One of the children visibly relaxes, whispering to one of her friends, and the others glom onto Harry instantly. “It’s okay--I can hear him,” she says a bit louder, and Harry starts counting in his head automatically, bending down to their level. He wasn’t at X-Factor when he was their age, mostly because he was a late bloomer and hadn’t had any trouble until the time Gemma fell out a tree and Harry ended up landing her in trauma by preventing her from unbreaking her arm. Which was traumatic, and horrifying, and ultimately his mum had refused to cart him off to Simon’s for fear that Harry would think it was punishment.

Harry thinks it must be nice, however, and he’s sure to give all of the children his utmost attention, and only flips Niall off a little.

The girl from earlier notices and her lips quirk up a little. “I’m Lux,” she says, smiling up at Harry. “Nice to meet you.”

Harry blinks a few times. “Lux,” he repeats. “Like. Louise’s Lux?” Professor Teasdale’s daughter had been barely more than a baby when Harry had seen her last, and this girl is a child. Fully functional, telepathic, and walking on her own. Harry stares down at her a bit dumbfounded and more than a little charmed.

She certainly looks like Lou and Tom, with the blonde hair and the blue eyes and the causal use of her power. Harry can feel her fiddling with his brain and it takes all of his self control not to slam his walls down and keep her out.

She’s a child.

Harry is a grown arse man.

He manages a smile.

Lux grins at him again. _Yep_.

Harry blinks a few more times.

 _Mummy talks about you a lot_ , Lux continues. _She says you’re silly._

Niall makes a giggling noise. “He _is_ silly, isn’t he?” he says, which means Lux isn’t projecting just to Harry. Or she’s not as good as Nick is, actually, since she can’t be more than six, at this point.

Niall giggles again.

Harry flips him off a bit more and remembers why he dislikes telepaths. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Lux,” he says, extending a hand to her.

Lux takes his hand daintily and gives it a shake and him a once over, before skipping off back towards her friends, who have very quickly gotten bored of Harry and appear to be having a very serious discussion on the steps above them.

Harry watches the group of them with a wry smile, remembering the way Louis had gotten soft whenever they’d been around baby Lux, and the way that he’d talked about his many sisters.

Jay’s had another pair of twins since then--one of which had given her a near heart attack by floating out of her crib at half five in the morning. Taylor had been utterly charmed by Doris, more so because of their shared powers. Harry thinks of Louis’ face the first time Taylor complimented Harry after one of their simulation classes, and decides that he probably shouldn’t mention that to Louis.

And then he goes a bit sick in the stomach, because of course he’s not going to mention that to Louis. Because Louis is a murderer. Harry’s not going to talk to Louis again because he’s gone around and killed people. And he doesn’t even _know_ he’s got a little brother now.

He wrenches his eyes away from the gaggle of children and finds Niall standing next to Lux with worry in his eyes. Lou’s daughter has a furrow to her brow like she’s been snooping, and Harry snaps his powers in around himself before he can help it. He lowers his shields as soon as Lux looks a bit hurt, because apparently she’s inherited Lou’s puppy dog eyes, but he regrets it as soon as Niall smirks and reaches down to high five the girl

“So Harry,” he says slowly. “Who’d you sleep with?” He’s looking at Lux a little bit knowingly, and Harry acts on instinct, his powers slipping back into place before he can so much as think of Louis’ eyes and Louis’ eyelashes.

“Blue eyes?” says Lux, seemingly unfazed. “With strangely long lashes for a guy--you sure it’s a guy? And then nothing.”

“Niall,” says Harry, appalled. “How dare you speculate about my sexuality with a--with a _lady_.”

Lux makes a slightly sour face that suggests she knows perfectly well that Harry was about to say ‘with a child’ but remains silent.

Niall just crosses his arms about his chest and pouts. “Harold,” he whines. “It’s been bloody ages since you’ve got l--since you’ve dated.”

Lux makes a slightly amused face that suggests she knows perfectly well that Niall was about to say ‘got laid,’ and Harry fucking smirks.

“I’m your best mate, mate,” Niall continues, only slightly red in the face. “Come on.”

Harry’s lips twitch up in a smirk.

“Shut up,” says Niall, definitely red in the face now as the innuendo behind what he’s said catches up with him. He makes a horrified face and grabs Harry’s hand, aghast, and tugs until Harry’s touching Lux’s bare cheek. “Harry!” he says, voice high. “Professor Teasdale’s gonna _murder_ me.”

Harry just throws his head back and _laughs_. “Serves you right, arsehole,” he says.

Niall shakes his head at him and throws a stab of disappointment towards Harry’s general direction. Harry only notices because he’s got his shields down just a smidge so that Lux isn’t put in complete darkness, because he once had a conversation with Nick about how terrible that was, that time when they got stuck in an elevator together on a mission.

Niall’d sprung them out not twenty minutes into their conversation, but the slightly unhinged look to Nick’s eyes had more than made a mark on Harry. Of course then Nick had ruined it by telling Niall not to be such a bloody girl, and Harry’d grabbed him by the bare hand anyway.

“Yes,” Niall tries to say when Harry zones back in. “But am I the one who was in _your_ arsehole--” Niall tries to say, but Harry starts talking over him desperately.

“’S it dinner time, yet?” he asks, voice high. “I’m famished.”

He gives Lux’s cheek a small pat before Niall can interject, and then strides up the steps into the mansion, doing a mental tally of all the small children as they hurry in after him.

Niall starts mumbling on about how he’s _sure_ that Harry’s famished but follows after him, and Harry flips him off a few more times for good luck.

\--

The morning after Harry leaves Louis in his hotel room, the murders taper off. Technically it’s only been a weeks respite, which isn’t enough to have Simon calling off the hunt and letting Harry and Niall go back to uni and their flat, but it’s still long enough of a break to have Niall dancing around the issue of who gave Harry the lovebites.

By the time _the day_ rolls around, Niall’s pretty much given up on shouting at Harry about it, but Harry caved and snuck out to see Gemma a few nights back, and no matter of explaining and finally _calling up his sister_ has convinced Niall that it wasn’t a booty call.

It wasn’t a booty call. Harry may have slept with their murderous enemy once before, but he draws the line at doing it the night before _the day_.

As per Harry’s luck, the day in question dawns sunny and beautiful. It seems like England’s gone out of its way to be the opposite of how Harry’s feeling, because from the moment Harry wakes up in Louis and Zayn’s old room, the entire mansion feels cheerful and happy.

Breakfast tries to be a bright affair filled with Lux and Lux’s friends and even Professor James and Professor Grimshaw smiling at each other cordially. Even Niall, who is usually on Harry’s damn side, seems affected by the sunshine. He’s not actively bleeding off happiness, because the weather can’t fix _everything_ , but he’s not his usual depressing self.

It seems that the rest of the world hasn’t got the memo.

Harry hasn’t so much as had a very sad, unhappy shower after breakfast before he’s being interrupted by a very put upon Jade Thirwall, who’s been instructed to tell him that Professor Grimshaw wants them in the simulator today.

“Why’ve we got to go?” says Harry, through a towel, on his way down to the lower levels with Niall at his side. They’re not even students anymore is the thing, and Harry gets that the fireball hadn’t gone quite as planned, but none of them need a refresher course.

“I think Grimmy said he wanted to do a demonstration,” says Niall, wincing a little at Harry’s storm cloud mood. He doesn’t flinch away from Harry, but Harry can tell he wants to. Niall’s too good a friend to say anything, however, and Harry sighs and flicks the mental switch on his powers. He’s getting quite good at _that_ , at least.

“Yeah, but why _us_?” Harry repeats, glancing over the group of people Nick’s assembled. He’s grabbed Jade and Taylor and Professor James, who looks about as pleased about the early start as Harry does, and even Jesy, who Harry hasn’t seen since that first morning. There are empty spaces where Perrie and Leigh-Anne should be, but thinking about that makes Harry feel even more guilty, and makes Niall flinch away even more.

“Well we were top of the class, Haz,” Niall starts to explain, but they’ve reached the elevator.

They all file into it without speaking, Harry stepping forward automatically to hold onto Taylor’s bare shoulder and concentrate on not making Niall’s claustrophobia even worse by taking away his control. Niall’s good in all situations except elevators, which makes things a bit difficult on a good day. Today, Harry needs all the help he can get, and Taylor doesn’t actually mind not having to concentrate on not hitting her head on the ceilings.

When they get down to the ground floor they find Professor Chung waiting for them, hair pinned up with two great sticks stuck in it and one heeled foot tapping on the pristine floors. She’s wearing a labcoat.

It makes Harry feels like they’re labrats, again.

He had _not_ missed that feeling.

“Hey, all,” says Alexa, once they’ve all got their way out of the tiny space and Niall is no longer looking a bit green. “Nick’s got the Year Eights, today.”

Harry makes a face that he hopes doesn’t look too upset. He actually likes helping with lessons, because he actually likes children, but the idea of having to have a handle on his powers is not high on his list, today. At least they’ll be locked inside a room without anyone around them this time, so they don’t have to see the sky in all its mocking, beautifully clear glory.

Niall makes a hurt sounding noise and steps in closer to Harry.

Harry steps away before he can get too close. He _hates_ how today makes him feel, and it’s even worse, because he’s fucking _guilty_.

“Don’t worry, Haz,” Niall whispers as Alexa leads them off towards the room. “You can sneak off to see loverboy as soon as we’re done.”

He probably means for that to be comforting and nice and all, but mostly Harry just feels worse. He hadn’t even been sneaking off to see Louis that one time. He was off to see Gemma, who knew the entire story and hadn’t been terribly judgmental, hugging him and telling him to come home to visit more often because Mum missed them. But Niall had thought he’d been sneaking off to see his nameless lover, and his friend had been so happy to see Harry with someone besides Louis that Harry hadn’t had the heart to correct him.

He is absolutely _not_ in the mood for it now. “Ni,” he says with a frown.

Niall lifts both his hands instantly. “I know, I know,” he says stepping backwards. “You’re not seeing anyone.”

Harry bites back a harsh sounding laugh.

“You’re just sneaking out at three in the morning and showing up after four the next day with suspicious bites up and down your neck.” His friends rolls his eyes. “Honestly, H, I haven’t seen you this marked up since Lou--”

“For the last time, I was visiting Gems,” Harry interrupts before Niall can finish that train of thought. “And, no, she’s not going to date you.”

Niall’s eyes do that thing where Harry can’t get a handle on his emotions, but he allows Harry to change the subject anyway. “Aw, H, just because you think your sister’s too good for me doesn’t mean she agrees,” he says.

“Babs broke up with you because future you talked about ‘banging’ her,” Harry says deadpan. “You twat.”

Niall keeps his hands lifted up in front of his face and pastes his learning smile on. “You’re just jealous she said I was the hot one,” he says out the side of his mouth.

Harry smiles at the Year Eights as well. “You’re just upset that Zayn was dating Pez at the time,” he retorts, also out the side of his mouth. “Because no way you’re the hot one.”

“I think it was probably actually Payno--” Niall starts to say.

Nick interrupts them and starts briefing them on the lesson, which features fireballs and telepathy and a giant robot that seems based off of Professor Higgins’ powers, now that Harry stares up at it with barely concealed horror.

He has only a moment to feel even worse about the last thing Niall’d said, before Nick is saying, “I’m sure the uni goers will be fine,” out loud, and _do try not to get_ too _squashed_ in all of their heads and the sequence begins.

Harry stops feeling quite so guilty in the ensuing panicked moments after. They might all be used to fighting crime, but this is a giant, bloody robot and it turns out robots don’t actually have feelings or superpowers that Harry can turn off and they don’t take too lightly to having Taylor Swift flying around their heads like a fly.

“None of us have any powers that can take down robots!” Harry ends up shouting at Nick once Niall and Taylor are lying in a heap and he and Jesy are the only one left running in circles. Harry might have leapt into Jesy’ arms but seeing as Harry is fucking _alive_ due to it, he doesn’t fucking care.

“You are a horrible excuse for a professor, Nick Grimshaw!”

Nick just laughs out loud and in Harry’s head like the arse that he is.

Jade appears at their side a few moments later with Professor James, who actually looks a bit sorry.

“I think this is my fault,” he tells Harry, at the same time the robot notices they’ve all stopped and starts stomping towards them with its giant fireball shooting arms stuck out at them.

“Yeah?” Jesy scoops Harry up again and goes darting off. “How’d you mean?”

“Tied Nick’s shoelaces together again,” says Professor James from somewhere towards the left. “Don’t think he was amused.”

“What does that have to do with us?” says Jesy, dodging another fireball.

Harry keeps counting to ten in his mind and _not_ turning off Jesy’s legs.

“Wait, Jess, I’ve got an idea,” interrupts Jade’s disembodied voice. “Come here a sec.”

Professor James grabs hold of Jesy as soon as they’ve skidded to a stop near them, and Harry winces only a little when they all go very cold. It’s weird being invisible.

“Cheating!” calls Nick over the loudspeakers. “Ten seconds till you’ve lost.”

He sounds like he’s got something in his mouth--probably popcorn.

“Okay, if you can get me to its head,” says Jade, ignoring Nick and speaking a mile a minute. “And one of you flings me at it, I _think_ I can cut it in half.”

Harry blinks.

Jesy binks.

Nick reaches five.

“Sounds fine to me,” says Professor James.

Harry lets out what is not the manliest of shrieks when Jesy drops him in favor of picking up Jade and speeding towards the robot, but that gets drowned out by the cheers in the room when Jade singlehandedly takes the thing down by opening a portal in the middle of its chest and doing _something_ that ends with the robot in pieces and Nick Grimshaw grudgingly applauding them.

Harry makes his way over to where Niall and Taylor are laying in the aftermath to find his friend staring back up at him looking like he hasn’t been knocked out at all.

In fact Niall just looks sad, Harry decides, and more than a little lost. “You don’t look very knocked out,” he points out, aware that it’s more than a little redundant.

Niall manages to raise one eyebrow. “Didn’t think I was all that useful, to be honest,” he says, and he almost sounds cheerful.

Harry sits down next to him with a heavy sigh. “How do you mean?” he asks.

Niall goes to nudge him in the shoulder and falls short halfway into the gesture. “Robots don’t have feelings,” he explains quietly. “I reckoned I’d just be useless.”

“Ah.” Harry swallows heavily and gazes up at the metal ceiling of the simulation. He doesn’t comment on what Niall hasn’t said. “It’s been three years, Ni.”

Niall follows Harry’s eyes up. “I know.”

Back on the floor, Nick is discussing the pros and cons of turning invisible mid-fight with the Year Eights.

Harry flops back against the ground and thinks. “You think roses?” he asks.

Niall makes a noncommittal noise. “Got him roses last year,” he says. “Can’t be getting complacent.”

“Maybe orchids,” Harry decides.

\--

They end up going alone to buy the flowers mostly because it’s late and everyone else is at dinner when they decide to go. The sun is still out and the sky is still cloudless, but by the time Harry and Niall pull up at the near deserted place with their flowers, not even decent weather can make everything better.

Harry feels awful. It’s been eating at him all day--since he woke up in bed with Louis weeks ago, actually, and now that he’s here, it’s only getting worse.

Niall doesn’t even understand, and Harry is aware he’s been snapping at him and shouting at him and forcing his friend’s mood to match his without giving him an explanation, but Harry can’t help it. He just feels guilty and it’s making him miserable.

Niall stops the car without comment and puts it in neutral, slamming the door open and shut behind him without a word and striding off towards the gravestones

Harry takes a moment to sit alone in the car, willing himself to move. Niall’s left him the damn orchids, because of course Niall has, and so Harry can’t sit this year out. He’s got to get out of the car with the flowers because they always bring flowers. It’s what you bloody _do_.

He’s just working himself up to getting up when the door comes open again and Niall sits down heavily in the driver’s seat. “You know what, fine,” says his friend, accent particularly thick with unshed tears. “You’re upset. We’re both upset. Fucking. Hazza I get it, okay, I was there _too_ , okay, I _get it_ , but you’re being a fucking _twat_ , Harry. A fucking _twat_.”

Niall reaches over and grabs the flowers out of Harry’s hand and gets out of the car with another slam of the door--open, closed, and then silence as he goes stomping away.

Harry sits in the car for a few more minutes and stares down at his now empty lap. His hands hurt from where Niall’d pricked him with the flowers. He might even be bleeding.

The door clams open again. “Actually, you know what?” says Niall, sitting down inside the car again. “Get out of the damn car, Harry.”

Harry turns to look at him blankly.

“You sat out last year and I’m _fucking_ done, okay, because it’s _not fair_ that I have to do this every year, but the least you could do is be my fucking _mate_ \--”

“Why’d you get blue orchids?” Harry interrupts, before Niall can keep going.

His friend lets the door fall shut for the third and final time, all of the wind going out of his sails. “What?” he says.

“The orchids,” Harry says, not looking at Niall yet. “They’re blue.”

Niall must glance down at the flowers, because it takes a moment before he replies. “Yeah? Haz--?”

“They’re the same color as Louis’ eyes,” Harry continues, still not looking away from his hands. He’s definitely bleeding.

“Harry.” Niall sounds careful now, like he’s walking on eggshells and he’s the one bleeding because of it.

Harry swallows hard. “I didn’t even know you could get blue orchids.”

“It was all the shop had, H,” says Niall, and he sounds tired now. “H. H. _H._ ”

Harry finally turns to look at him and winces at the pity he sees there. Niall looks like he wants nothing more than to hug Harry and smother him with affection. His friend doesn’t move, however, because after the first year when Harry nearly took his head off for trying, Niall hasn’t so much as hugged him on the day.

Harry keeps his walls up anyway. “You can say it,” he says finally. “I won’t break.”

Niall leans his head back against the seat and stares blindly ahead. “I know you love him, Haz,” he says quietly. “But you were doing so good, yeah? You’re seeing someone--” He points a finger at Harry before he can speak-- “--and don’t act like you aren’t seeing someone, Styles, because I might not be the best at setting you up with eligible men, but I know what lovebites look like.”

Harry feels like he’s swallowed his tongue.

“Today’s hard for everyone, Harry,” Niall says finally. “So can you please just. Help me out?”

He extends the flowers off towards Harry like a peace offering, smiling tentatively at him.

Harry bites back tears and takes the bouquet, careful not to scrape Niall’s hands. 

They get out of the car.

“It’s kind of funny that it was so nice, you know,” says Niall, seemingly back to his usually chipper self having won the car argument. He’s bobbing along at Harry’s side like this is any other day, but his sunny disposition feels fake. “Kind of the opposite of how I was feeling.”

Harry isn’t sure if he can speak yet.

“Anyway, I was thinking we’d just leave ’em and go get dinner this time,” Niall continues. “Cause you didn’t seem to like the speech thing last time, and I know you were here earlier--”

“I wasn’t seeing someone,” Harry says finally, cutting Niall off at the pass. “Like. Earlier.”

Niall turns to him with earnest eyes. “Haz, it’s alright,” he starts to say. “I was just being a twat--you don’t have to tell me about him.” His friends looks horrified. “It is a him, right? You weren’t being cagey ‘cause it’s a bird, ‘cause, like, I know you go either way and all, but the way you were walking I didn’t wanna assume--”

Niall stops talking  and Harry knows this is his cue to laugh, to smooth it all over, and to rib his friend out for assuming anything about Harry’s potential partners. He doesn’t, because he can’t really bring himself to smile.

Whatever semblance of cheer Niall’d managed to muster vanishes and his friend tries to smile. “Harry?” he says, voice very small. “H, I--”

“It was Louis,” says Harry, staring straight ahead and holding his head high. They’ve slowed to a halt and he doesn’t want to look down. “I slept with Louis, Niall.”

There’s a tense, awkward beat.

“You mean three years ago,” Niall starts to say, sounding confused.

Harry stops him before he can start. “No, a week ago,” he says. “I snuck out to go see the crime scene--to _make sure_ \--and he, um. He stopped by.”

He doesn’t say that he chased Louis around London on a motorcycle before letting the other man fuck him in his hotel room, but he figures that’s implied. Or not implied, actually, since when Harry looks at Niall, his friend actually looks a little bit horrified. “He ran,” Harry rushes to clarify, because the hotel room is important in the scheme of the whole, crime scene thing. “And I was going to bring him in like. I had Professor James’ motorcycle, and he was on a bus, so.”

“But instead you slept with him,” Niall finishes, voice unreadable.

Harry shoots him another quick glance and finds his expression equally unreadable. “Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say, actually.

Niall is quiet for a long moment, before he lets out a long breath. “Well,” he says. “That’s probably not the _best_ thing you could have done--Simon’s probably not going to be very pleased--but it’s not like. The _worst_ thing.”

Harry is shaking his head before Niall finishes talking. “It kind of is,” he mutters. Like, it’s maybe not the _worst_ thing, but it’s still pretty shitty. Pretty fucking _awful_ , actually.

Harry’s surprised Niall’s still talking to him, actually.

“No, Haz,  I mean.” Niall sounds like he is entirely out of his depth, which just serves to make Harry feel even worse. “Like.. Louis--”

“Louis killed Liam,” Harry interrupts, letting his gaze drop down to the gravestone. It’s a simple stone marker, nothing too fancy or extravagant because the grave’s fucking _empty_ \--add that to the list of things Harry should have asked about when he saw Louis last, right after punching him in the face and ask him bloody _why_.

 _Liam James Payne_ , it says. Harry sets the flowers on top of it with a barely there thud.

“Harry,” says Niall, and he still sounds placating.

Harry closes his eyes briefly before reaching down for Niall’s hand. “Louis killed Liam, Niall,” he says quietly. “And I--”

 _And I love him_ , he thinks. _What kind of friend does that make me?_

Niall just keeps silent, holds Harry’s hand, and lets him keep his pain.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um. Yeah. I would just like to point out the ‘minor character death’ tag and my decision not to use archive warnings. THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE MUCH MORE PROMPT B/C THIS WAS THE CLIFFHANGER I WAS BUILDING UP TO. 
> 
> I am SORRY.
> 
> Rebloggable masterpost [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/107350571560/title-my-love-is-a-fortress-my-love-is-a). (I will be ready EVERY tag on this post) Fluffy Harry and Louis near canon WIP fic to sooth your soul can be found [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/107332258900/fic-i-need-you-here-with-me-now).


	5. Issue 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Um. I was in Denmark studying abroad and also I graduate from college this year? Also like. My real life blew up. And like, One Direction also apparently blew up. BUT I’M BACK AND I’M ALIVE AND I FINISHED IT ALL I AM SO SORRY
> 
> Betaed by Sabrina, Melanie, Vic, and also Syd. Britpicked by Jess. All other mistakes are my own.

**Issue 5**

\--

**X-Factor Mansion: 2011**

\--

Harry doesn’t understand why Louis doesn’t like Liam, is the thing. Well. He knows Louis is actually quite jealous of Liam, but that’s only because he and Louis are dating, which means Harry knows all about how Louis wishes he’d got a cool power like fireballs.

“Plasma beams,” Harry’d tried to correct, but Louis had just shimmied down Harry’s body and breathed against his dick with one eyebrow raised like, ‘would you rather be dating Liam Payne, Harold?’ so Harry’d let it go.

But the point is Harry doesn’t get it, since he’s spent the entire morning at the breakfast table with Liam being regaled about the wonders of comic books. Harry doesn’t really understand the deal with comic books, mostly since Harry’s life _is_ a comic book, but he nods along anyway. He’s been dating Louis long enough to know to do that much, at least.

Liam’s rant cuts off abruptly. “Oh, great,” he says. “I know that face--you’re thinking about Tom--Louis.” Liam had been smiling, which is how Harry knew he was only joking, but the nickname seems to have slipped out accidentally, because as soon as Liam catches himself, the smile falls off his face.

Harry rests his cheek in one palm and regards Liam for a long moment. “You know he doesn’t have superhuman hearing,” he says finally after Liam’s squirmed for long enough.

Liam makes a face at him. “We’re not friends, Harry,” he says of Louis, stiffly and with that half-haughty tone that Harry knows drives Louis up the wall. “And besides, he told me not to call him that.”

Harry wants to point out that Louis’ told most of the students at the X-Factor Mansion not to call him ‘Tommo’ from the moment his childhood friend Stan let the name slip. He’s even rebuked Harry, although to be fair Harry was quite drunk at the time and had thought it would be good to try the nickname out in bed.

He’s not about to tell Liam any of that, so he settles for stealing a bit of his buttered toast and taking one neat bite. “Fair point.”

Liam looks like he might actually be affronted, but before he can say anything else, Louis himself is swanning into the room hollering at the top of his lungs.

“Hazza!” he calls, walking with both his arms outstretched and a blindfold over his eyes. “Where are you?”

Harry stares back at him with his mouth half open, not sure if he’s horrified, amused, confused, or just plain aroused by Louis’ apparent blindness. He thinks his boyfriend’s got one of Niall’s socks round his face; he should _not_ be charmed.

“Here, Lou,” he says loudly, as the rest of the people in the kitchen ignore the scene with the patience of people who’ve lived with Louis Tomlinson for years. They haven’t got any new students this term, so there’s no one for Louis to wow and no one to bat an eyelash.

Instead there’s just Liam, whose entire body has gone stiff, and who is sat very clearly in Louis’ chair. Harry hadn’t been about to mention it, because Liam had been happily going on about comic books, but he thinks he probably should have, because Liam has only a few seconds to glance around and realize where he’s sat before Louis is finished stumbling towards the two of them.

“Harry?” he says, reaching out with his hands until he finds Liam’s face and shoves his hands into his hair. “You’re not Harry.”

Liam doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that--obviously he’s not Harry, he’s not even sitting in Harry’s chair and Louis _knows_ that--but Louis’ fingers are also dangerously close to going into Liam’s mouth.

Harry doesn’t mind having Louis’ fingers in his mouth; Liam probably doesn’t agree.

“No,” Liam says finally. “Erm--”

“Why’ve you got Harry’s hair, then?” continues Louis, running his fingers through Liam’s hair with stiff fingers. It looks actually quite painful, not at all like how he is with Harry’s hair, and Harry winces. Louis’ been on about Liam’s curls for ages, ever since the other lad had woken up one morning with wavy bedhead and decided not to get it cut. Harry thinks Louis is being ridiculous, since there’s no way that Harry has a monopoly on curly hair, but Louis is like a dog with a bone, and Liam gets so wonderfully upset about it.

“Um,” Liam says, looking like he might actually cry this morning, and Harry’s brain starts chanting alarm bells. Louis’ got the sock over his eyes and he can’t see, is the thing. And while he might enjoy tormenting Liam, there’s no way he doesn’t _like_ him a little bit, since he keeps including him in their pranks. And they _both_ like comics.

Like. They’d get on so bloody well, Harry is sure. He doesn’t understand.

“Only Harry can have Harry’s hair,” continues Louis, as he keeps yanking on Liam’s hair. He’s got his gloves on as always, but they’re not the long, elbow-high ones that his mum got him for his birthday. Instead they’re smaller, looser, falling, and far more prone to slipping down his wrists when he gets particularly rambunctious. Harry likes them better, because they come off easier, and nothing is better than Louis’ skin on his.

“I don’t have Harry’s hair,” Liam is saying, once Harry’s zoned back in from his slightly embarrassing and far too detailed fantasy about Louis’ hands. (He has very soft skin, alright, which is mostly because he doesn’t go around touching people or things _besides_ Harry, and yes, that’s sad, but it also never fails to make Harry hard, because Louis trusts him enough to _touch_ him--)

“You do too have Harry’s hair,” interrupts Louis, and his fingers yank particularly hard.

“Ow, Louis,” whines Liam, trying to twist away from Louis’ grip. “What are you the hair police--? Are you trying to rip it all out--?”

“I don’t think that’s how hair works, Leeyum,” Louis says happily, like he hadn’t pulled out two of Niall’s near non-existent leg hairs the other day to see what would happen. Niall’d slapped him with a headache for the rest of the day, but Louis had claimed it was worth it. Especially when Harry gave him a head rub.

“Liam’s curls aren’t really like mine, Lou,” Harry interrupts, because he really can’t be getting hard at the breakfast table, and because he really doesn’t want to see Liam cry.

“No, they are.”

Liam manages to get free after only minimum struggle, but Louis doesn’t let him stay that way for long.

Harry can only watch with concern as Louis sprawls himself into Liam’s lap and grabs for his wrists.

“Louis--please--get off--!” yelps Liam, and he’s not really crying but his voice breaks anyway, and he clears his throat a few times to make up for that.

Harry winces, because Louis’ definitely caught the hitch in Liam’s breath, and while they’ve been moderately civil with each other for the past few weeks he can tell that Louis’ been itching to end that peace. “Lou,” he tries to say, but Louis is grinning and opening his mouth to ask Liam if he’s crying--Harry can see the words forming in his throat--when Liam’s entire body changes.

Harry scarcely gets a glance at Louis’ left glove, which is barely hanging onto his left hand, and Liam’s bare wrists, before Liam is shoving Louis off with all his strength.

“Fucking _get off me_!” he shouts right up in Louis’ face, and the entire room is suddenly looking at them.

Louis looks shell shocked before he can stop himself, both hands behind him keeping him upright on the kitchen floor, and Liam is shaking when he collects himself and goes to leave.

“It was nice chatting with you, Harry,” he says, meeting Harry’s eyes and nothing else. “I’ll see you later.”

Harry watches him leave the room, careful not to touch anyone else, and blinks.

He looks back down at Louis on the floor. “Lou--” he starts to say.

Louis hasn’t pulled Niall’s sock away from his face. “Hazza?” he asks, sounding lost.

Harry gets to his feet and goes to help him up, taking hold of one of Louis’ hands and pulling him up into a standing position.

Louis goes willingly, looking as lost as he sounds. “What just happened?” He reaches up and tugs Niall’s sock free from behind his ears and sets it down on the table where Liam was sitting with a grimace. “I wasn’t--”

“Other people have curly hair, Louis,” Harry points out. He ends up sounding more angry than he intended, but Liam’s upset and he still doesn’t know why the two of them are like cats and dogs.

Louis looks abruptly chastened. “I didn’t mean it, Haz,” he says quietly. “I just--”

“You just weren’t thinking, Lou,” Harry interrupts, unable to stop himself now that he’s started. “You never do.”

Louis’ entire face shutters closed, his hands clench into fists, and he shifts away from Harry infinitesimally. The angle of his body changes so there’s absolutely no chance a part of them could touch, and Harry hates himself a little, because even when he’s angry at him, Louis is protecting him.

Not that Harry needs protecting, because Harry can touch him, but Louis’s had nineteen years to get good at withdrawing.

Normally Harry would go to hug him, but before he can, Niall and Zayn are rounding the corner into the kitchen.

“Yo, Lou, mate, what’s up with Liam?” says Zayn, as soon as he spots the two of them. “We passed him in the hall on our way down. Looked shaken up.”

Louis seems to wilt even more, seemingly torn between staying far away from Harry and touching him.

Harry stares back at him with his lips pursed.

“Haz,” Louis whispers. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Tell that to Liam,” Harry decides eventually, reaching to grab his and Liam’s plates and heading over toward the sink with them. Jesy appears out of nowhere like she’s been summoned, taking the dishes from him with a grin. Professor Grimshaw has her on chore duty, because she seems to like cleaning, and because it gives her ample opportunities to practice moving so fast she’s a blur.

“Harry,” he hears Louis say one more time, as he leaves the room. He stops just outside the kitchen, listening.

“Let him go, Lou,” Niall says finally. “You fucked up.”

There’s a slapping noise--Harry thinks Louis’ hit Niall with his own sock--before Louis says, “Yes, Ni, _I know_.” He’s probably trying for put upon, but mostly he just sounds sad.

Harry’s first instinct is to run back into the room and cuddle him, but he gives himself a little shake and heads off towards Liam’s room instead.

\--

“I’m not in the mood, Harry,” Liam says before Harry’s even finished knocking on the open door.

The other lad is on his bed with his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them and his chin resting on top of one. He’s got a small lick of fire playing around one of his fingers, which Harry reckons he lit himself because Liam’s control is out of this world. When Harry had first got to X-Factor, Liam had been something of a wild card with a terrible buzzcut because some sort of fire accident, but since then, he’s gotten much better.

Harry knows Liam thinks he’s not good enough, yet, because he’s still prone to misfiring during class, and sometimes he can’t even produce a single plasma beam, but Harry thinks Liam’s ace at the whole superhero thing.

At the very least, he thinks he’s got the whole tortured loner thing down. That seemed to feature heavily in those comic books depictions of heroes Harry knows, so like. There is that.

Liam heaves a long sigh and lets the fire go out. “Hi, Haz,” he says a bit listlessly.

Harry leans on the doorframe for a moment, unsure if he should go and sit on the bed or not.

“You can come in,” Liam decides. “But only you.”

Harry tilts his head to the side. “Does it look like anyone else is here, Li?”

Liam finally turns to look at him, brow furrowing, before he shakes his head.

Harry comes the rest of the way into the room and toes the door shut behind him. “You alright, Leeyum?”

Liam’s lips twitch and he scoots over on the bed so that Harry can sit next to him. “Louis is a twat,” he says.

Harry plops himself down heavily and leans into his side. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“I know you love him, but he’s a total dickbag,” Liam continues.

“True,” says Harry.

“He’s a right arsehole,” Liam adds. “A fucking _wanker_. I fucking hate--”

Harry raises one eyebrow. “You fucking hate...?” he prompts.

Liam visibly deflates. “I fucking hate that he hates me,” he says miserably. “I fucking hate that he hates my _hair_ ,” he adds, gesturing at his fringe. “I like my hair.”

Harry reaches out to pet the top of his head. “I like your hair too, Li,” he says.

“Zayn likes my hair,” Liam goes on to say. “Niall likes my hair. Even Danielle Peazer told me I looked ‘quite cool’ the other day, and she’s right fit, so.” Liam goes a bit pink at the end of that sentence, glancing around nervously. “Don’t, um, tell anyone I said that, yeah?” he asks Harry, which he translates loosely to please don’t tell your boyfriend.

Harry files that away for future reference but doesn’t say anything. He’s not going to tell Louis, of course, but he’s also not going to lie to him. Besides Danielle Peazer is right fit. Harry’s sure Louis would agree. “She is quite fit,” he says.

Liam stares back at him for a long moment. “Um,” he says. “You’re not just saying that, are you? Cause like, you’re, _you know_?”

Harry shoves Liam in the shoulder. “Liam,” he says reproachfully.

Liam’s eyes go wide. “Shit, sorry,” he says quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--I didn’t mean anything--I just mean Louis’ a bloke--fuck--” He breaks off rather miserably and burrows his face in his knees. “ _I’m_ a twat,” he decides.

Harry pats him on top of the head. “There there,” he says, not at all comforting, mostly amused. Liam’s quest to be less judgmental has been something of a pet project for Harry. Mostly because he was worried Louis was going to kill Liam the next time he danced around the issue of who was putting whose dick where.

“No, I am,” Liam continues to say to his knees. “I’m a shithead. A right arsehole. An awful...person.”

Harry had started to pet through Liam’s hair, because Liam’s hair is really bloody soft, but he tightens his grip on it reflexively. “You’re not an awful person, Liam,” he says a bit sharply. “Don’t say that.”

Liam lifts his head up with a wince. “Ouch, Haz.”

Harry lets go of his hair. “Sorry.”

Liam rubs at the top of his head. “It’s alright,” he says. “Just a bit tender. Lou’s got a fucking grip, mate.”

“Louis does have very strong fingers,” Harry agrees happily. “Not like me, though. He says I’m good with my hands, Li, did you know?”

Liam stares back at him with barely concealed horror.

Harry maybe regrets the fact that he appears to have lost his brain to mouth filter.

“No, Harry, I didn’t know!” says Liam, voice high. “Thank you for telling me!”

It’s Harry’s turn to hide his face in his knees. “Let’s just pretend I never said that, right Li?” he says. “Please?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Liam says instantly. “We’ve just been here talking about how much of a twat your boyfriend is.”

“He is a bit of a twat,” Harry agrees, still addressing his knees. Before he can go on, the two of them are interrupted by a loud thud and a groan of pain.

“Ow, Lou,” comes Zayn’s voice, from outside the door. “You bit me.”

“What do you mean I’m a bit of a twat?” says Louis’ voice, also outside the door. “Harold. I suck your cock, you know.”

Harry turns to look at Liam with a grin. “It’d be hard not to know, I think,” he says quietly and Liam grins. “Are you saying you’re not a twat?” Harry adds, loud enough that Louis can hear him.

There’s a pause.

Liam looks at Harry for a long moment. Finally, he smiles. “Yeah, Tommo,” says Liam. “Are you?”

There’s another pause.

Zayn stops grumbling about Louis’ teeth.

“No,” says Louis finally. “I mean, yes, I am a twat, Payno, but that doesn’t mean my _boyfriend_ is allowed to go _agreeing_ with you about that.”

And Harry’s stomach is doing swoopy things because Louis called him his boyfriend, and Liam still looks a little off but he’s not quite so sad anymore, so Harry considers it a win.

\--

It’s Professor Cowell’s idea. Harry and Niall and the rest of the Year Thirteens are all sat around in Professor Grimshaw’s class trying not to fall asleep when the Headmaster interrupts them. Harry’d been fighting a losing battle with said sleep because Louis kept him up the night before by throwing rocks at his window and then sucking his brains out through his cock. Also, Harry’s the only one in the class who doesn’t fall asleep and have their dreams read out to the entire class by Professor Grimshaw. The benefits of negating powers.

By contrast, Niall isn’t doing so well, nearly drooling and probably about three seconds from being ridiculed by Nick Grimshaw himself, when Simon strides into the room and disrupts class.

“Professor Cowell,” says Nick, stopping mid sentence. “To what do we owe this honor?” He like. Bows, and everything.

Harry hides a snicker.

Hell, most of the class hides a snicker.

Niall remains mostly sleeping.

“I’m going to have to borrow Horan and Styles, Grimmy,” says Simon. “If you don’t mind.”

Nick twitches a little at the ‘Grimmy’ thing.

Harry files that away for future reference.

Niall is _still_ sleeping.

“Certainly. Harry, Niall,” says Nick.

Niall doesn’t stir.

Harry kicks him in the leg because Simon Cowell is staring at the two of them now.

Niall doesn’t freak out until they’re out in the hallway and even then he whispers it, grabbing onto Harry’s arm and holding tight. “What the _fuck_ , mate--”

“Gentlemen,” says Simon, depositing them outside the lift. He presses the button for the floor below them and leaves them be with one impressive nod.

“Do you think he can talk to inanimate objects?” Niall says finally, staring off after him. “Like. Doors, and shit?”

Harry blinks a few times. “I highly doubt Professor Simon Cowell talks to shit, Niall,” he says dryly, as the lift doors swing open.

“No, I mean--” Niall starts to say, before he catches sight of Harry’s face and he’s scowling. “You’re hilarious.”

Harry steps into the lift. “Thank you.”

Niall follows after him with an eye roll. “I mean the man’s omnilingual,” he says. “If anyone could talk to doors--” he narrows his eyes at Harry-- “--and shit--”

Harry raises his eyebrows.

“--it would be him,” Niall finishes. “You arse.”

Harry grins at him for a while. “I dunno, Ni,” he starts to say, before the doors ding open. “Why don’t you go ask him yourself. Use that exact phrasing, as well. Ask Professor Cowell if he can talk to doors--”

The doors finish swinging open to reveal Zayn and Louis stood in front of the lift, Zayn looking bemused and Louis with his mouth open to speak.

“--and shit,” Harry finishes lamely. “Um.”

Louis closes his mouth. “Never mind,” he says over his shoulder to Professor Alvarez, who is standing a bit behind them. “Never mind. I want Leigh-Anne instead.”

Zayn’s nearly smirking and even Professor Alvarez looks amused.

“You can’t pick your superhero team, Lou,” says Zayn eventually. “It’s against the rules.”

Louis ignores him. “Fuck the rules,” he says. “Sorry Professor.”

Professor Alvarez grins some more.

“Leigh-Anne’s much better than that one.” He jabs his finger into Harry’s chest, effectively keeping the lift doors from closing by use of his arm. He’s got his suit on. Harry’s throat goes a bit dry.

“I could go for Leigh-Anne,” chimes in Niall, shoving his way between Louis and Harry and out of the lift. “Leigh-Anne’s cool.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh my God,” says Zayn finally, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh my God. I agree with Louis, _never mind_.”

Louis goes to high five Niall, grabbing his hand right after and pulling him into his chest for a hug. “Well, I never,” he says dramatically, moving so that Harry can get out of the lift as well. “Professor Cowell himself recommended we be a group, Zayn. You want to tell him no.”

“Professor Cowell recommended we be a group?” interrupts Harry, finally finding his voice.

Louis lets go of Niall and pulls Harry in for a hug in his place. “Yep,” he says, popping the p. “We’re supposed to do some trial runs in the simulator--to see if we’re really all that good--and obviously you lot are wee things--”

“Hey,” says Niall--

“--so we can’t go on actual missions, but at some point in the near future, we will.”

Harry opens his mouth to respond because that sounds really nice, actually, but before he can, the lift dings again, and an awkward looking Liam Payne is standing in front of them. He shuffles out of the lift with his hands clasped in front of him. “Anyone know why Simon Cowell pulled me out of Maths?” he wants to know, eyes darting around at the four of them.

Harry holds his breath, because Louis hasn’t been an arsehole to Liam in weeks, and this could be the end of that line.

“Apparently we’re going to be the next superhero team,” says Zayn, like the savior he is.

“Ah.” Liam looks relieved. “Hate Maths, anyway.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “That’s cause you’re shit at it, Payno,” he says. Harry thinks he’s going for teasing, but Liam visibly wilts a little, so Harry steps on Louis’ foot. “Ow--H--”

Harry lifts his eyebrows at him pointedly.

“Sorry. Liam,” Louis corrects. “Good to have you.”

Liam still looks a little shaken, but less so.

“Don’t mind Lou,” says Zayn, draping an arm around both Liam and Louis’ shoulders. “He’s just pissed off because you’re the top of the class, Li. Beating him at _everything_.”

Louis shoves Zayn off his shoulders. “Fuck off, Malik, we can’t all be bloody geniuses.”

Niall just glances between the three of them with barely contained glee.

“Anyway,” says Professor Alvarez. “I’m glad you all get on, boys, but we really should be starting.”

“Right, yes.” Louis’ entire demeanor changes. “Let’s go, lads.” He shrugs Zayn off him and grabs Harry by the hand, pulling him into his side and wrapping an arm around him before walking off towards the simulator.

“How come Louis gets to be in charge,” Harry hears Liam mutter, but he’s a bit distracted by the feel of Louis’ fingers along the back of his neck.

It goes appallingly.

For being somewhat good friends, the five of them are _awful_. They’ve been put up against Leigh-Anne, of all people, with her friends Perrie, Jesy, and Jade, and by all means Harry thinks that the lads should have this. Perrie can discern powers, Jesy has super speed, Jade can make portals, and Leigh-Anne has an affinity for the cold. By contrast Louis can take anyone’s powers and use them, Harry can take anyone’s powers and force _them_ not to use them, Niall can make anyone feel anything, Zayn can break people’s eardrums, and Liam _shoots fire_ out his body.

But they’re failing.

After the final time Liam fails to produce a plasma beam and Jesy manages to trip Niall, Louis has had enough.

“Liam!” he say shrilly, and he must be angry, because he’s called him by his name. “What is your problem, _mate_?”

Harry and Zayn ended up frozen to the ground a few minutes back by a well planned double team on the part of Jade and Leigh-Anne, so they can’t very well do anything but watch. Niall’s no better off; Leigh-Anne leaves his hands free, so he flips her off once she’s done freezing him in place.

“I’m trying, Louis,” shouts Liam back, sounding more angry at himself than at Louis.

“Well you’re not trying hard enough,” snaps Louis. Before anyone can say anything he’s ripped his glove off and has grabbed Liam by the back of his neck. “I’ll do it my bloody self--”

Harry barely manages to shut his eyes before a beam of red, hot light erupts from the center of Louis’ chest, barely contained and nearly blinding. He has the foresight to aim it away from their friends and their professor, but the simulation room doesn’t seem to happy to be on the receiving end of a plasma beam.

Zayn makes a shocked noise somewhere to Harry’s left, which Harry is sure he can only hear because of his powers.

“Louis!” shrieks Liam, in the middle of it. “Louis--stop!”

“I don’t know how!” Louis shouts back, and he sounds equally frantic. “I don’t know how--I don’t know how--”

Harry’s hands come free when the heat from the plasma warms the ice, and he rips himself free of the bit on his feet without thinking, stumbling towards Louis and Liam.

“How do you make it stop?” Louis wails, just as Harry gets close.

“I dunno!” shouts Liam. “I don’t. I’m not good at stopping, Louis--”

“You’ve done it before!”

“Think of cold things!”

“What do you mean cold things?”

“Bloody cold things!”

“You’re an arsehole, Payne--“

The light goes out abruptly, leaving the room in partial darkness, electricity humming around them.

“Cold,” says Louis finally. “Cold. Cold Cold--Harry!”

Harry snaps himself into action, getting to his feet again and racing towards the two of them. He grabs Louis first, one hand slapping down onto his bare chest--Louis’ suit isn’t built to stand up to plasma like Liam’s is--and the other curving around to find Liam’s hand, since giving Liam back his powers is probably a terrible idea.

As soon as he does that Liam gasps and falls to his feet next to them, breath coming in quick pants.

Harry lets go of his hand and takes Louis’ face in his hands. “You idiot,” he says.

Louis meets his eye gratefully, looking a little bit chagrined, and mostly glad he’s still alive. “Love you too, H,” he says.

Harry glares at him some more before leaning in to peck him once on the lips. He is taller than Louis, because seventeen has brought him a growth spurt, and there’s nothing quite like Louis going up on his toes and scowling because of it. “Idiot,” he says again, once he’s pulled back. “What were you thinking?”

“You have to admit it was sick,” Louis says, trying for a smile. “Like, the whole, me not being able to control it thing aside. Your powers are sick, Liam--” Louis breaks off, smile falling away from his face to be replaced by horror. “Liam?”

Harry pulls away from Louis at the sound of his voice in turns, in time to see Leigh-Anne finish unfreezing Zayn and Niall, and to notice that Liam’s lying on the ground next to them not really breathing.

And then Professor Alvarez is bursting into the room with Professor Walsh in tow, and Harry and Louis get a little bit lost in the ensuing panic.

\--

He finds Louis in the toilet washing his hands, looking shaken.

They’d been allowed to see Liam once he was breathing again, and Louis had gone with them all, but he hadn’t said much. He’d just sort of stood there. Zayn and Niall had got in the bed with Liam the moment Professor Walsh left them alone with him, and Harry would have stayed with them, but Louis had vanished in that moment as well, and Harry doesn’t think Louis should be alone right now.

“Louis?” he says quietly, standing in the doorway of the toilet.

Louis turns off the tap and dries his hands on his trousers but doesn’t say anything.

Harry lets the loo door close behind him and steps into the room carefully.

He can see the exact stall that they stood outside of on the day they first met, Louis without his gloves and Harry without any friends. He stares at that for a while, because it’s nicer to look at than the constant shake of Louis’ shoulders. “Louis?” he says again.

Louis doesn’t turn to look at him. “Did you know my powers manifested when I was seven?” he says quietly. “In August. Lottie was just a baby.”

Harry didn’t know any of this. He takes a step.

“Mum left the two of us alone for just a second, because I was always very good with babies, and she was my sister, so it wasn’t like I was going to hurt her, and I just.” His throat bobs. “I just wanted to touch her hair, ‘cause it was baby hair, you know?” He turns to look at Harry and his eyes are red rimmed and teary. “And I touched her and she just started _wailing_.”

Harry cross the room and pulls him into his arms for a hug. “Louis--”

“And I didn’t know what to do, right? I was seven. So I just put my hand over her mouth, and it didn’t help, and I was panicking, and Mum was going to be angry, and I was going to start crying.” Louis keeps talking, seemingly unable to stop. “And then Lottie just went _silent_.”

Harry tightens his grip on his arms.

“Mum came back in and found me halfway across the room crying,” Louis continues. “I hadn’t done more than touch her for a minute and we had to rush her to casualty and everything. Wouldn’t let my mum hold me for weeks. Wouldn’t hold _Lottie_ for weeks.” Louis makes a sniffling noise into the cradle of Harry’s arms.

Harry presses a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Liam,” Louis whispers, barely audible in the room. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Harry hugs him even harder, unable to help himself, because those are his own words being thrown right back at him and he’s an _idiot_. “ _Louis_ ,” he says. _I love you_ , he thinks.

Louis must get that, because he squeezes him harder. “I was just so upset with him,” he continues. “Because how hard can it be to shoot plasma beams out of your chest, you know?”

Harry tilts his head to the side. “Well.”

Louis smacks him. “I know that _now_ , you arse,” he says. “But I didn’t then. I didn’t know anything about Liam’s powers except that he needed to use them.”

Harry refrains from mentioning that maybe Louis should have just not taken Liam’s powers to begin with.

Louis hits him again. “I can hear you thinking, Harold,” he says dryly. “You can say it.”

Harry lifts both of his hands in the air. “Hey, I’m being nice,” he says. “I’m your boyfriend. I’m supposed to be nice.”

Louis’ lips twitch into a smile, and he hides it in the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt. “You are my boyfriend,” he says quietly. “My favorite boyfriend.”

“Your _only_ boyfriend,” says Harry quickly.

“My only boyfriend,” Louis agrees. He squeezes Harry one last time before pulling back. “Thanks, H.”

Harry smiles at him, before furrowing his brow. “Are you sure you’re alright, Lou?”

Louis shrugs a little. “Professor Walsh made sure of that, didn’t he?” he says, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

Professor Wash can heal just about anything, which comes in handy with a school full of teenagers with mutant powers. Liam being a bit purple and knocked out hadn’t been too hard for him to fix, but he’d done quite a bit of shouting at Louis, who was at a hundred and ten percent due to the life energy he’d taken from Liam along with his powers. Apparently Louis really should have been listening more carefully in power class. After Professor Walsh had been Professor Cowell, who not only gave Louis a stern talking to, but pulled the five of them from advancing in whatever program he’d drafted them into in the first place. Jesy, Jade, Perrie, and Leigh-Anne would be allowed to go out on a mission, of sorts. Harry, Louis, Liam, Zayn, and Niall, would not.

Harry had been allowed to stand next to him and hold Louis’ hand, but even that comfort had been sourced, because Louis knew as well as Harry that the only reason he was given permission was because he effectively prevented Louis from stealing anyone else’s powers. It was the first time Harry had been angry at how well the two of them fit together.

“I meant feelings-wise,” says Harry. “Are you okay feelings-wise.”

“Feelings-wise,” repeats Louis.

Harry stares at him unmoving. “Feelings-wise.”

“Well I’m fine, Hazza, thanks for asking,” says Louis, pulling his gloves out of his pockets and pulling them up his arms. “Feelings-wise, I mean.”

Harry continues to stare at him, hard.

Louis moves towards the toilet door first, where he stops with his back to Harry. “I think I liked it, Harry,” he says quietly, and Harry has to crane his head to hear him. “I think I liked taking Liam’s powers.”

He’s gone before Harry can say anything about it, leaving him alone in the toilet with his mind running away from him and ice in the pit of his stomach.

Two weeks later, Louis and Liam convince the rest of them to go on an unauthorized mission, and Harry and Niall end up knocked out halfway through.

When Harry comes to, Louis is standing over Liam’s body surrounded by wreckage and Zayn is shouting at him to run, Louis, please.

Harry is dazed, his head hurts, his _eyes_ hurt, and he must be hallucinating, because Liam looks _dead_ and Louis looks like he killed him and there’s fire _everywhere_.

The next time he wakes up it’s to Niall’s sobs and Professor Cowell’s hand on his shoulder. Louis, Zayn, and Liam’s body are nowhere to be seen.

Harry spends the better half of a year convinced that Liam isn’t dead and that Louis isn’t a killer. And then he spends three years pretending none of it ever happened.

\--

**London: Present Day**

\--

“We probably shouldn’t sleep in this graveyard,” Niall says finally.

“Probably,” Harry agrees.

“I’m going to sleep in this graveyard,” Niall decides. “Wake me when you’re done wallowing.”

Harry lets go of his hand abruptly, suddenly furious. “Wallowing?” he repeats. “I slept with the motherfucking enemy and you think I’m _wallowing_?”

“Louis doesn’t fuck his mum, Harry, that’d be gross,” says Niall. “Unless you’re his mum.” Niall narrows his eyes at him from where he’s sat down next to Liam’s grave. “Are you his mum, Haz? Cause that’d be quite the plot twist.”

Harry is seriously debating stepping on Niall’s hand because Niall is an arsehole. “You’re an arsehole,” he tells Niall.

Niall toasts to him with an imaginary glass of imaginary wine.

Harry flicks the ‘v’s up at him.

“But seriously, Haz, he’s the love of your life,” says Niall.

Harry looks away from him. “Was the love of my life,” he says quickly. “Not anymore.”

Niall sounds like he rolls his eyes. “He’s the love of your life,” he continues. “Of course you slept with him. Hell, I’d sleep with him if he wasn’t the love of your life. Lou has a great arse, mate.”

Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“Also he kind of. Murdered my best mate,” Niall finishes, under his breath and sounding like he regrets it immensely as soon as he’s finished.

Harry’s head snaps around to glare at him. “Yes, Niall, he did.” he says. “Now can you let me go back to my wallowing?”

“A-ha!” Niall points at him with his imaginary wine glass again. “So you do admit you’re wallowing.”

Harry debates sitting down next to him, looks over at Liam’s grave, and decides otherwise. “No,” he says. “Well, yes. But I’m justifiably wallowing. And why are you so chipper, anyway? Liam was your friend too.”

“I haven’t moved past it,” Niall says. “But I’m not going to let it define me. Payno wouldn’t want me to do that.”

Harry has to admit that’s true.

“Besides, I’m just glad you finally told me who you fucked,” finishes Niall. “You were being unbearable.”

And that makes sense, because after the first year, Niall stopped getting drunk on the anniversary of Liam’s death and started hauling Harry to his grave with flowers. And Niall’s never liked it when Harry was upset, because he’s the only person he can’t handwave into happiness.

Harry heaves out a long sigh and sits down on the ground next to Niall. “I love you, Nialler,” he says.

Niall leans over and clinks his imaginary wine glass into Harry’s forehead. “Love you too, Haz,” he says. And then he ruins the moment by adding, “You as well, Payanator,” and clinking his fake glass against Liam’s grave. And then he pours it over the stone.

Harry stares down at Niall’s hand for a long moment. “Okay, first,” he says, voice hoarse. “I reckon that’s disrespectful--”

Niall hums--

“--second, Liam’s body isn’t even in there--”

Niall tilts his head like, ‘true’--

“--and third, Liam didn’t even drink.”

“Right!” says Niall. “Bastard was missing a kidney and everything.” Niall takes another fake swig. “You’re missing out, Payno.”

Harry laughs because he can’t help himself, leaning over into Niall’s side and trying to convince himself he’s not going to start crying. He’s not. He won’t. It’s just. Somewhat dark, and cold, and they’re currently sitting over a grave having an imaginary glass with a dead person. A dead person that was killed by the love of Harry’s life--the love of his life he slept with a few days ago. “Give me that,” he says, reaching for Niall’s imaginary wine.

“Nuh uh,” says Niall, twisting away from him. “This is my wine.”

“Niall, please,” says Harry. “Give me the wine. It’s not even real wine.”

“It is mine--”

“Niall!” Harry goes to kneel next to Niall on the ground. Which is when the air next to them fizzles with purple energy and Louis Tomlinson comes through with a knife sticking out of his chest. He’s also holding onto a slightly terrified looking man.

Eleanor is with the two of them--she’s the one who caused the energy ripple and probably fried Harry’s phone--but she’s only so much as looked around, seen Harry, shouted, “Typical!” and “Jaymi, deal with Lou!” before she’s vanished with another purple ripple.

Louis is left standing next to the stranger--Jaymi--with the knife still stuck in his chest. “Harry!” he rasps, upon seeing him. “Niall!”

“Louis!” says Niall, seemingly unable to help himself. “You’re bleeding!”

Louis’ eyes dart down to his chest and the knife and he goes to pull the damn thing out and Harry snaps into action.

“The fuck are you doing?” he snaps, getting to his feet and striding over to Louis. He slaps his hand away from the knife. “Don’t bloody pull it out!”

Louis is staring at him in a blind panic looking like a live wire, and he isn’t wearing gloves, Harry notices. He’s rolled the sleeves of his henley down over the hand gripping Jaymi, but he’s not wearing his gloves.

Harry slaps a hand over whatever bit of exposed skin he can find.

Louis’ entire body relaxes. “Sorry,” he says, sounding breathless. “Panicked--”

“Here, let me,” says Jaymi, reaching out to put his hand on Louis’ chest right by the knife.

Harry grabs his hand before he can stop himself, and Jaymi freezes with his palm pressed to Louis’ left pectoral. “Um,” he says. “It’s not working?”

The three of them stare down at the Jaymi’s hand.

“That’s because of Haz,” says Louis, at the same time Harry stumbles away from him with an apology.

“Sorry,” he says. “My bad, erm.”

He pulls a hand up to rub at the back of his neck and then fiddles with his fringe.

“No problem,” says Jaymi, smoothing his fingers over Louis’ skin and pulling the knife free. He heals him as soon as he’s done. “It’s the least I could do. You saved me.”

Louis shakes his head. “Jaymi, please,” he starts to say.

“Hang on, saved?” interrupts Niall, getting to his feet. “What do you mean saved?”

Jaymi, looks at the two of them curiously. “Are you two friends of Liam’s as well?” he says, entirely innocent and with wide eyes.

Harry takes another step back from Louis with anger pounding in his ears. “What,” he says, “the fuck, Louis?”

“I can explain--” Louis starts to say, before there’s another great flash and Eleanor Calder blips into existence with Zayn Malik and Perrie Edwards by her side.

Harry gives himself a mental thwack on the head, because of course Perrie’s been helping Zayn, Perrie and Zayn were a _thing_ \--before the rest of the scene catches up to him.

Zayn still looks good, Harry notes, and he’s got a knife sticking out of him as well--which Jaymi removes and heals without speaking--but there are more pressing things at hand, because in Zayn’s arms, chest rising, eyes shut-tightly, and most importantly, _not dead_ , is what looks to be one Liam James Payne.

“Thank God--you made it--” says Louis, rushing forward to hug Zayn over _Liam’s not dead body_. “Did he see where you were going--?”

“Please, Lou, what do you take me for,” says Eleanor, rolling her eyes and coming over to help Louis and Zayn set Liam on the ground.

Liam. Who is alive.

Harry has to sit down.

“What the fuck?” says Niall.

\--

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO YEAH LIAM’S NOT DEAD EVERYBODY ISN’T THAT WONDERFUL NEWS? NO? I’M GONNA JUST. MIC DROP AND WALK AWAY.
> 
> Rebloggable masterpost [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/128426137265/title-my-love-is-a-fortress-my-love-is-a-louvre).


	6. Issue 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY I AM SO SORRY I AM SO SORRY AGAIN REAL LIFE BLEW UP ONE DIRECTION BLEW UP I AM SO SORRY.  
> Betad by Syd and Vic. Britpicked by Jess. All other mistakes are my own.

**Issue 6**

\--

**London: Present Day**

**\--**

“You’re not dead,” says Harry. He’s the first one to find his voice from his place on the ground somewhat near to Liam’s not dead body.

“Erm,” says Jaymi.

“You’re not dead,” Harry repeats, staring down at Liam for a few hard moments. He looks like he’s managed to age three years, but he also looks like he’s not been awake for them, muscle deterioration and lack of color to his skin making that much obvious. Harry would have expected him to be paler, actually. It has been three years.

“Louis liked to take him tanning,” says Eleanor, with all her usual ability to read Harry. Back when they’d been somewhat friendly, she’d attributed it to the fact that both of them had had terrible crushes on Louis and her competitive spirit; Harry is still somewhat convinced she’s at least partially telepathic. One day he’ll get that out of her.

“Oi, I did not,” says Louis, slapping Eleanor on the arm with his still covered hand. “He’s in a bloody coma, El, that would be rude.”

Eleanor smirks at him a bit.

“A coma,” Harry manages, turning to look back down at Liam. “A coma?”

“Yeah, um.” Louis drags a hand up to play with the hair at the back of his neck. “He won’t wake up.”

“I think that’s the definition of a coma, bro,” says Zayn, grinning a little.

Louis moves towards him as well, brandishing his hand threateningly.

“Oh, no don’t,” says Perrie, putting her hands over her ears. “Don’t do that--not again.”

“Again,” Harry repeats tonelessly.

“You’re starting to sound a bit like a parrot, mate,” says Jaymi. “Are you sure you don’t need me to look at you as well?”

“Forgive me--one of my mates died three years ago, today,” Harry snaps. “Only it turns out he didn’t actually die.”

Zayn’s eyes harden. “Harry--”

Harry turns to stare at him, gaze trying to hold his gaze but failing, because he has missed Zayn, and it wasn’t like Zayn had been the love of his life or anything, but he’s just--

Nothing makes any sense.

“Hazza--” says Louis. “Harry--”

“What the _fuck_?” says Niall, again. Harry had thought he was being rather silent, if not surprisingly calm, but his friend is finally moving. Niall gets to his feet shakily, comes to stand in front of Liam’s not dead body, stares at said not dead body, pokes said not dead body, and then walks a few more steps forward and punches Louis in the face.

With his bare hand.

Louis’ entire body goes taut, one because Niall’s punched him, and also because that point of contact between them is enough to have Niall’s life energy and powers filtering into Louis.

Harry starts feeling fuzzy and panicked before Louis can seem to stop himself, and Zayn, Eleanor, Perrie, and Jaymi seem no better off, but Niall seems unfazed.

“What the _fuck_ , Louis?” he repeats shrilly, stepping back a bit to regain his breath. The veins on his neck are sticking out a bit, which Harry thinks is because of Louis’ powers, but might actually just be because Niall is that upset.

“You fucking _punched me_?” says Louis, wiping at the blood on his lip--Niall hadn’t held back, then--and staring at Niall like he’s seen a ghost. “What the hell, Ni?”

“Don’t fucking call me that you cunt!” Niall says angrily, jabbing a finger into the center of Louis’ chest, hard. He does it a few more times, staring Louis down. “You let me think you’d fucking killed Liam!”

There’s a beat of silence, because true, before Louis steps back and punches Niall in the face.

This time Harry and the rest of them get zapped with a punch of anger and hurt, before Louis is pulling away from Niall. “You fucking _thought I’d killed Liam_!” he shouts back in Niall’s face. “You arsehole!”

Niall snarls right back at him, reaching out to grab him by the collar of the top. “Well what was I supposed to think--the last thing I saw was you standing over his probably dead body--!”

“He was passed out--!” interrupts Louis.

“--And then you fucking ran away!” finishes Niall, ignoring him. “You fucking ran away, Lou! You arse!”

The two of them continue staring into each other’s eyes with anger fizzling around in the air between them for a few more moments. Harry very slowly lowers his mental shields, letting his natural dampening effect come into play before things get ugly.

“Yeah, well,” says Louis. “I was a twat, Ni. And I’m sorry. And Liam’s not dead?”

Niall keeps staring at him for a while longer and Harry is three seconds from intervening, but then his friend breaks out into a sunny smile--which Harry is certain _everyone_ feels--and hauling Louis into a bone crushing hug.

“You’re such an _arsehole_ , Tomlinson!” he says into Louis’ hair. “What the fuck, man, like. You’re such an arsehole.”

Louis looks pained, probably because Niall is squeezing the life out of him, but also probably because he can feel everyone’s emotions around them and Niall doesn’t seem to care.

Harry is still upset with him, but he makes his way over to them and slips his hand into Louis’ own anyway, just in case.

Louis shoots him a grateful look over the back of Niall’s head and goes to pat him on the back with his free hand.

“I fucking _missed you_ , Lou,” Niall tells Louis’ neck.

Harry suddenly feels a little bit awkward, stood beside the two of them holding Louis’ hand.

Niall seems to pick up on that, because he somehow manages to partially let go of Louis so that he can haul Harry into the group hug. Which would be well enough on its own, but Niall even goes so far to shout for Zayn. “Oi, Malik!” he says, voice cracking in the middle. “Get your bony arse over here.”

Zayn mutters something about having put on weight since we’ve seen each other, Niall, but he comes over and fits himself into Harry’s side anyway.

Harry lets out a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and feels something slot into his chest like a missing puzzle piece.

“Missed you,” he says into the middle of Louis’ ear, echoing Niall’s earlier sentiment. “Missed you both.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, but he goes a little bit misty eyed and hugs Harry and Niall tighter.

“Feels a bit off, though,” mutters Niall, from Harry’s right. “Like. We’re missing Payno.”

There’s a pause.

“We’re not going to hug Liam’s unmoving body, Niall,” Louis and Zayn start to say at the same time, and Harry is laughing before they’re finished.

He fucking _missed_ this.

“Why not?” whines Niall, but he’s also laughing.

“Because that would be weird, Irish.” Louis pinches Niall’s side, and then goes to twist one of his nipples.

Zayn smacks his hand away.

“They always say coma patients can hear things, though,” Niall continues, sidestepping Louis’ advances so that Zayn’s between the two of them. “You never know, Tommo. Liam might remember this and hate you for it.” He’s obviously trying for joking, but it’s like he’s gone and flipped a switch on the inside of Louis’ head, because the other man goes quiet.

“I reckon he’d hate me for having put him in a coma, Ni,” he says quietly.

Niall lets out a long, hissing breath. “Bullshit,” he says finally.

Louis’ eyes snap up to meet his.

“You heard me.” Niall stares Louis down. “Bullshit.”

Zayn reaches out to put a hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Ni,” he starts to say.

“No; bullshit,” says Niall, shrugging him off. “Payno loves you, Lou,” he says. “And sure, like. I thought he was stupid to do so since you were a right twat to him--”

“--just because I was a twat to him doesn’t mean I was going to kill him?” Louis tries to interrupt.

Niall winces a little but keeps going. “--but he wouldn’t hate you, Louis.” Niall pauses. “Like. I’m sure it was an accident.”

“Why did you believe that I’d kill him, anyway?” says Louis ignoring everything that Niall’s said. He’s addressing both Harry and Niall now, and Harry knows they’ve hugged it out and all, but Louis looks actually hurt. He hasn’t let go of Harry’s hand the entire time, however.

“Um,” says Harry.

Niall raises his eyebrows back at him. Evidently he won’t be helping Harry out.

“Look, Lou, it’s stupid,” Harry starts to say, looking around for guidance of some sort.

Perrie and Eleanor are huddled over with Jaymi having what looks like a very intense conversation, but Eleanor is certain to look up, meet Harry’s eyes, and smile like ‘don’t mind us, please continue.’

Zayn just lifts one brow and stares at him.

“YousaidyoulikedtakingLiam’spowers,” Harry rushes out, and squeezes his eyes shut. Now that he lets himself think about it--like really think about it--it is stupid. It makes no sense, and Harry has no idea why he let himself wallow in it for three years. Like, beyond the fact that Liam was for all intents and purposes dead and Louis had _run away from Harry_.

The silence goes on for a bit so Harry risks opening one of his eyes.

Louis is staring at him with wide, blue eyes, Niall looks like he wants to smash their faces together and start shouting ‘now kiss’, and Zayn just looks confused.

“You what?” says Zayn.

“I didn’t mean like I wanted to take his powers and _murder him_ , Harold!” Louis says finally, tugging Harry towards him so that he can better stare into his eyes. “Why would you think that--”

“Okay, so maybe I wasn’t really thinking,” Harry interrupts, before Louis can keep going. “But I was only seventeen--”

Louis lets go of Harry’s hand. “Oh my god you thought I’d killed Liam,” he says, starting to pace a little. “You thought I killed Liam.” He stops pacing and turns to point at Harry. “And you--you still slept with me!”

Zayn makes a choking noise.

Eleanor makes a knowing noise.

Jaymi just looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Harry feels a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Yeah, well,” he says. “I was in love with you!” He means it to derail the conversation, because while it’s true, it’s also the type of thing that he used to throw at Louis whenever he wanted to stop an argument in its tracks. Louis doesn’t react like he’s expecting, though.

Instead of going soft and crinkly eyed, he actually looks a little bit hurt. Again. “Was?” he whispers.

And Harry would tell him not to be ridiculous--in fact Harry’s about to tell him not to be ridiculous, but Perrie Edwards is shattering that fantasy before he can.

“Look, I’m glad that the four of you...five of you...are back to being besties, again,” she says, in a no nonsense sort of tone that Harry grudgingly admires. “But can we get back to the more pressing issue?”

Harry and Niall turn to look at her expectantly.

Perrie looks at Zayn and Louis expectantly. “The guy trying to kill Jaymi?” says Perrie. “Or even, like...the guy trying to kill _us_?”

“Shit, right,” says Zayn. “Louis, bro...”

“Fuck, I know,” says Louis. “El--”

Eleanor snaps to attention. “I’m on it,” she says, reaching out to grab onto Louis and Zayn, who’ve hauled Liam into their arms again. “Back in a tick.” She vanishes and reappears in what feels like seconds, grabs Perrie and Jaymi, and repeats the action.

Harry and Niall are left standing awkwardly in the rapidly darkening graveyard with Liam’s empty and not needed grave, staring at each other.

“Um,” Niall starts to say, before Eleanor pops back into existence with a grin.

“You didn’t think I was going to make you both drive, did you?” she says, and before they can answer, slaps a hand down both of their shoulders. Harry experiences firsthand what he thinks apparition would feel like.

Niall must be thinking the same thing, because as soon as they’ve landed and the ground starts to spin a little, he says, “You sure you didn’t visit J.K. Rowling and take her on a trip, or something?” He pauses. “Also, car?”

Eleanor just laughs at him and shoves him in the shoulder. “Haha,” she says, but narrows her eyes and disappears anyway. Moments later she’s back with an eyeroll. “It’s in the garage. Now come on. I think Lou and Z would be grateful to have some backup. They are on your most wanted lists.”

\--

Walking into Simon’s office is probably one of the most awkward moments of Harry’s life. Niall’s right behind him, so he’s not feeling too uncomfortable, but it’s still pretty darn odd. Louis and Zayn have ended up backed into a corner with Liam’s not-dead body behind them and  Perrie stood in front of them glaring, while Professor Grimshaw rants at them. He’s probably doing most of the shouting nonverbally, but every so often Nick hurls a swear word or two at them out loud, and each time Louis looks closer to wanting to punch him where it hurts. Like probably in the dick. Simon is sat at his desk with his fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, silently taking this all in.

Harry wonders if he could get away with leaving.

As soon as he thinks that, Nick turns on him, whirling away from Perrie and roaring in Harry’s head--

 _This is all your fault, Styles_ \--

\--before Harry gets a hold of himself and puts a damper on that.

Almost instantly, Perrie shoots him a relieved glance, so obviously Harry wasn’t the only one getting an earful. Harry throws her a tiny smile in response and pointedly doesn’t look at Nick when he closes the door to Simon’s office.

“Oops,” Harry says softly.

“Hi,” mumbles Louis, and the tattoo on Harry’s arm twinges slightly.

Zayn makes a pained expression and smacks Louis, angling his head sharply and having some sort of non-verbal conversation that Harry misses. He’s missed a lot of things in the four years when Liam was dead and Louis had ‘killed’ him, but being able to read each other blind is something he’d hoped would just snap back.

As it stands, he has no idea what Zayn is telling Louis, beyond that he should let Harry go and move on to someone better for him. To someone who hadn’t mistakenly believed he was a murderer. Harry hopes Louis is sticking up for him like the beautiful, loyal idiot he is, but he also agrees with Zayn.

Simon has stopped pinching the skin of his nose and is now staring back at Harry, expression more than a little strained, and he’s definitely waiting for Harry to say something.

Hell, Harry is waiting for Harry to say something.

He swallows. “So you probably want an explanation.”

Simon inclines his head infinitesimally.

Nick looks like he wants to hurt someone; not having your powers can do that to a telepath, apparently; God knows what it would to do someone whose mutation was _really_ part of them.

Harry powers on. “Well,” he says, “so the good news is Liam isn’t dead...”

“We realize Payne is alive, _Harold_ ,” interjects Nick, voice sounding hard and brittle. “His body is over there on the bloody floor.”

“His not-dead body,” says Harry. “As his body is alive. Since he is not dead. So, like. He is not dead. Not just his body. Liam is more than a body. Um.”

From behind him, Niall reaches out and puts a comforting hand on the small of his back. Harry breathes out a deep breath and lets his powers swell outwards to encompass Niall, basking immediately in the sudden calmness. This does mean that Nick immediately starts shouting at everyone again, a fact which Harry becomes all too aware of when Louis’ shoulders stiffen, and he says, “Well spotted, Grimshaw,” seemingly to nothing.

Nick shoots him an unimpressed and smug look.

“You truly deserve your title of professor,” Louis continues, eyes eagle-sharp. “Really suits you.”

Nick looks like he’s considering strangling Louis, powers be damned, so Harry snaps his bubble around everyone in the room save himself, Niall, and Simon, leaving Eleanor suddenly looking antsy.

Harry turns back towards Simon. “So anyway,” he says. “Liam’s alive! That’s good news?”

Simon shifts a little in his seat, the most he’s done since Harry got into the room, and then lets out a long breath. “So it would seem,” he says, with all the dignity of being the head of a semi-secret mutant school.

Niall makes a choked sounding noise and mutters something about the pirates and Johnny Depp, but Harry really doesn’t have time to dissect that, because Louis seems to have unfrozen and is making his way across the office.

Nick snaps to attention immediately, hands coming up to grab at Louis and eyes narrowing.

Louis seems unbothered, simply coming to a halt just in front of Nick, so that they’re stood chest to chest, eyes narrowed, Louis looking daring and Nick looking furious.

Louis raises one eyebrow in challenge.

“Louis,” Zayn says warningly, darting a glance towards Harry and tapping his vocal chords. When Harry shakes his head, he settles  bare hand on Louis’ shoulder anyway, fingers just grazing bare skin.

Harry has to work very hard not to give anyone their powers back. Good to know his jealousy is still alive and kicking. “You’re probably wondering _why_ Liam is alive,” he manages to say, turning back towards Simon, who’s been watching this entire exchange blankly.

Simon nods, because he most definitely would.

Harry nods as well, because he knew that was going to be the answer. “So,” he says. “Louis? Zayn? Anyone feel like sharing with the class?”

Louis’ head swings around to stare at Harry, and he actually looks betrayed, which Harry thinks is ridiculous, since this is his moment to tell his side of the story and explain why he let them all think Liam was dead, but before either of the two of them can speak, Nick interrupts again.

“Actually I’m more interested in why you haven’t arrested the two of them, yet,” their professor snaps, sounding particularly poisonous and pissed off. “Seeing as they’ve essentially been on a murder spree.” He looks like he knows exactly what Harry was doing instead of arresting Louis, and Harry has to grit his teeth to keep meeting his gaze.

“Actually, Nicholas,” interrupts Louis. “If I didn’t kill Liam, I most certainly didn’t murder Ed Sheeran. So you can kindly fuck off.”

Zayn looks torn between high-fiving Louis and smacking him again for the language. He also looks like he wants to smack _Harry_ , which Harry would almost let him, if he could figure out why.

Nick sort of just bares his teeth, obviously at a loss, and Louis grins right back at him. So nothing’s changed there, then.

“Anyway,” Louis continues. “I’d think you’d be happy I wasn’t a mass murdering bad guy. You’d definitely be next.”

Nick definitely bares his teeth this time. “Actually I’m not a healer,” he says primly. “Sorry to burst that bubble.”

Louis files that information away visibly, before continuing, “I’m sure evil mass-murdering me would have made an exception. You did fail me in Year Ten.”

“You deserved to be failed in Year Ten,” Simon interrupts finally, managing to cut through the tension in the room with his voice. It’s like he’s draining poison from the room, made all the more obvious by how Niall is visibly relaxing with each second Simon stares Nick and Louis down.

“And you thought _your_ feelings towards Lou were complicated,” Niall whispers under his breath to Harry. “Try hating him and respecting him and also wanting to bone him.”

Harry turns to look at Niall with vague horror settling into his bones. “I _do_ ,” he starts to hiss, before Simon interrupts him as well.

“Regardless of that fact,” says their head of school, “Mr. Payne is in fact alive.”

Louis points wildly at Simon. “Right,” he says. “And who are you counting as my first victim again? The one with the husband? Definitely didn’t kill her. I left her alive. Like I left all the other ones alive too.” He looks like he wants to say more, and Harry has never been more thankful for Zayn, who steps on Louis’ foot. Louis wouldn’t think that he’d killed that woman’s husband, but he’d definitely feel blame for it in some way. Since it was his fault the man had forgotten his allergies.

Speaking of--

“Why were you wiping their minds?” Harry interrupts. “Assuming you’re telling the truth and all.”

“Assuming I’m telling the truth?” Louis says sharply, sounding more hurt with Harry than he had with Nick.

Zayn lifts his foot off of Louis’ and stares at Harry pointedly.

Harry swallows hard. “I mean. Of course you’re telling the truth.”

Louis stares at him for a long while, cycling through emotions that Harry doesn’t really understand or recognize, and making his chest ache with longing and sadness and regret. God, he’s fucked up.

“You know what, this is stupid,” Louis says after a pause, turning physically away from Harry and facing Simon, then Nick. “We don’t have to play he-said-he-said--we’re bloody superheroes--”

“Mutants,” Nick interrupts.

“-- _you_ can read minds--” Louis stomps over to Nick, grabs his hand, and then stomps over to Harry. He’s obviously intending to grab Harry’s hand as well, but he stops just before he can, and his entire face shutters open. “Oh, _Hazza_ ,” he whispers, eyes flitting all around Harry’s face, and Nick makes a mildly disgruntled noise in response.

Harry would smack him or something but all he can do is stare back at Louis’ blue, blue eyes, entirely laid bare. Because Louis is reading his mind. That’s what stopped him. That’s why everyone else in the room is so still, why Nick looks like he’d like to be anywhere but, why Niall’s entire aura screams knowingness. Louis is _reading his mind_. Harry has half a second to think maybe he should do something about that, because there are things in there he doesn’t want Louis to see, like all when he lost his virginity or when he stopped hoping Louis hadn’t killed Liam and all those anniversaries he spent trying to hate Louis and failing. But it wouldn’t be worth it anyway, because Louis is looking away and visibly composing himself.

“I don’t have to tell you that I didn’t kill Ed or Louis. I can show you.” And then he’s grabbing Harry’s wrist and letting go of Nick’s and everything goes briefly dark.

And then all of them are in Louis Walsh’s house, briefly, then at the cafe, then at Ed’s flat, before Nick gets a handle on himself and Harry feels his feet settle back in Simon’s office.

Simon’s eyes have gone as blank as Nick’s, so he’s obviously along for the ride, but no one else is affected.

Harry looks down at where Louis is gripping his wrist so tight that he can feel an ache in his bones, and frowns. Louis hated that Nick could do this. On principle, Louis had always been wary of people with mental powers, but he never so much as blinked with regards to Lux. Lux could carry on one-sided conversations with Louis, and Louis would laugh and hoist her higher in his arms.

But Nick, Louis never let Nick read him. He’d plop himself down next to Harry and stay there, half snarling at Nick and half hiding in Harry’s hair. He told Harry once that it was because he didn’t trust Nick with what he’d find, but Harry hadn’t understood what Louis meant by that. Watching him now, grim faced and determined to prove himself innocent, Harry thinks he finally gets it. Because while Nick might be looking specifically at what Louis is showing him now, that doesn’t mean he’s blind to the rest of it.

“He sees everything, Harry,” Louis had said one night, face buried in Harry’s neck. “You’re the only person I want to see everything.”

And Harry had been young and sex-hazy, so he’s slipped a hand down to grope him and commented on the fact that Louis was naked so of course he saw everything. And Louis had laughed and that had been the end of it.

Now, Harry shifts his hand around so that he’s gripping Louis back and grips his fingers until they turn white, and when Louis’ eyes flit frantically away from Nick briefly to meet Harry’s, he holds on even harder.

 _I’m right here_ , Harry doesn’t say. _I’m always right here_.

\--

They stick Louis in a prison type situation anyway, since apparently the school is still equipped with something of a dungeon from the old days. Harry has no idea when the ‘old days’ actually  were, but he’s not about to do any investigating.

Perrie and Eleanor and Zayn each have their own cells as well, but Harry can’t see any of them from where he’s stood outside Louis’ cell. The electricity isn’t very strong this far under the school, and everything is basically as dark and dank as you’d expect a superhero dungeon to be.

 _Mutant_ , comes Nick’s mental voice, and Harry doesn’t even think before slamming all his shields down so hard it makes his teeth ache.

“Damn, Haz,” comes Zayn’s voice in the dark. “Calm down.”

Harry thinks about Louis’ face and doesn’t say anything.

“I’m alright, H,” the man in question whispers, from where he’s still not come out of the shadows. “Really.”

Harry just glares at the darkness unimpressed. “Really,” he repeats back, completely unconvinced.

“Really.” It’s a testament to how smart Louis is that he’s keeping his face hidden, because his eyes would most definitely be giving him away.

Harry stares into the blackness of the cell even harder, before saying fuck it and going for the key he’d stolen from Simon earlier. “You know what, fuck you, Tomlinson,” he says loudly, to cover up the sound of the lock opening, and starts pulling the door open. “Would it kill you to let someone baby you--”

“You spent the last three years convinced I was a murderer, Harry!” Louis interrupts, and there’s the panic and the anger and vulnerability. “I think I’m allowed to be a little distant!”

Harry steps in through the crack he’s made and pulls the door shut behind him, listening to the lock click shut with morbid glee.

No one around them says anything for a long moment.

Finally, Louis finds his voice. “Please tell me you have the key,” he says.

Harry sticks his hand in his pocket to grab the thing, pulls it out, brandishes it in the air towards Louis’ face, and promptly drops it. It goes clattering off into the darkness alongside most of Harry’s hopes and dreams. “Um,” he says.

“Typical,” mutters the rest of Harry’s hopes and dreams, before he steps out of the shadows so that Harry can finally look at him. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but that’s probably only because he’s been trying so hard not to.

Or maybe Louis doesn’t cry much anymore. Harry wouldn’t know.

Suddenly, Harry wants nothing more than out of this cage.

“You know, this is probably good for you two,” Zayn says after a moment, when it becomes clear that neither Harry nor Louis are going to say anything. “And Lou, if you don’t feel like he’s groveled enough send him my way. I’ve been waiting three years for this.”

Harry doesn’t have it in him to protest, because he certainly deserves it.

“To be fair,” Louis says quietly. “It’s not like I didn’t run away.”

Zayn sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. And you were brutal to Liam as a kid too. Doesn’t make you a murderer.”

“No.” Louis rubs at his bare arms a bit nervously, looking anywhere but Harry. “I’m just saying I’m not blameless in this.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry says, finding his voice. Before Zayn can say something to _that_ , he continues, “You were a little shit as a kid, and I was trying to be a good boyfriend who didn’t push you--”

“--and I loved you for that--” Louis tries to say.

Harry presses a finger to his lips and tries not to let the effect of those three words show. “--and then I completely overreacted and caved to peer pressure and I’m _sorry_ , Lou, I’m so sorry that I didn’t believe you and that I fucked you--”

Louis bites him and it’s not all playful. “Don’t be sorry for that,” he says harshly. “Never be sorry for that.”

Harry brings his thumb back to Louis’ mouth and rubs over his bottom lip. “I wasn’t very nice to you, Lou,” he whispers.

Louis presses the tiniest of kisses to Harry’s fingertips but doesn’t disagree.

“I didn’t want our first time to be like that,” Harry continues. “I shouldn’t have let it be like that.”

Louis stares at him had for a long while, before reaching up to take Harry’s hand in his own. “It was pretty disrespectful of Liam and Ed,” he says finally. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Harry ends up giggling despite himself. “At least I followed you back to your hotel room,” he says. “It would have been worse if it had been in Ed’s flat.”

“Right,” Louis says, lips quirking up as well, and then his entire face falls. “Oh God, _Ed_.” He falls back on his feet hard, looking shattered.

Harry tightens his grip on his hands and hauls him forward before he can slip away into the shadows. “It’s not your fault,” he says firmly. “You couldn’t know someone was targeting you.”

“Ben,” Louis interrupts. “His name is Ben. Ben Winston.”

There’s a beat.

“Ben Winston?” Harry says. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“He’s not a mutant,” Perrie interjects, from somewhere to their right. “At least not one that I know of. And I know all of them so.” She probably shrugs.

Harry rolls that piece of information around and around in his brain. “It’s definitely familiar,” he mutters to himself. “And he threw a knife at you.”

“Two knives,” interjects Zayn. “I don’t think he was expecting that we’d come back to make sure Jaymi was okay.”

“To be fair we’d never left,” Louis says, and then he looks helplessly at Harry. “I saw what happened to Ed. I’d never forgive myself if it happened to someone else because of me.”

“Why were you targeting healers anyway?” Harry asks, curious. “Or. Visiting, I guess.”

Louis blinks up at him. “We were trying to fix Liam?” he says, voice raising at the end.

Harry feels very suddenly like he’s been a complete tit. “I’ve been a complete tit,” he says.

“Harry,” Louis tries to say.

“No I absolutely have,” Harry continues. “I’ve been the biggest tit ever like. I’m a mutant tit.”

“Haz--”

“No this is good,” says Zayn. “This is very good--Harry?”

Harry makes a humming noise and turns towards Zayn.

“How big of a tit are you?”

“Like the size of Big Ben,” Harry replies. “Oh my _God_  I thought you were a murderer!”

Louis looks uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he says. “But Haz I don’t _blame_ you--”

“That’s because you’re a good person!” Harry interrupts desperately. “You’re such a good person that you’re not angry at me for thinking you murdered our good friend Liam!” He lets go of Louis’ hands and grabs his shoulder and shakes him. “And I thought you were a murderer! Even though you’re this great of a person!”

“I ran away,” Louis murmurs. “And I was _awful_ to Liam.”

“I’m an _idiot_ \--!”

“Okay we’re going circles. Just kiss already,” says Zayn. “Louis, Harry was the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends but he loves you and he’s sorry. Harry, you fucked up quite a bit but I get where you’re coming from. Everyone still loves everyone. We good?”

Harry manages to get his hands to stop shaking where they’re still wrapped around Louis’ biceps.

“Are we good?” Zayn repeats.

Harry’s eyes flick down to Louis’ lips, and then back up to his eyes. “I dunno, Lou, are we?” he mumbles, and Louis doesn’t even let him finish before he’s kissing him.

It’s not a chaste kiss either. It’s Louis’ tongue in his mouth and Louis’ thigh between his legs and Louis’ fingers in his hair. It’s everything their first kiss in the hotel should have been and somehow even better and even hotter.

Harry makes a muffled moaning noise and his eyes fall shut, unable to help himself. He goes stumbling forward when Louis starts walking them into the dark, and Harry’s only had a tiny bit of his brain to think about the fact that Louis is only wearing a henley and the walls are made of really ugly rock before they’re slamming up against a wall and Louis is groaning in a less than happy way.

Harry pulls away from his mouth instantly.

“No, don’t--” Louis says immediately, eyes coming open and fingers grabbing for Harry. “Come back--”

“You should let Sophia look at that,” Harry says worryingly, pressing his fingers into Louis’ shoulder blades and rubbing over the skin there. The top really is threadbare. “Or Jaymi, I guess.”

“Sophia?” Louis inquires.

“She’s Gemma’s roommate,” Harry explains. “And she’s also a healer, but she didn’t go to X-Factor, so you wouldn’t know her--”

“She’s a healer?” Louis interrupts, suddenly all business. “Harry. She’s a healer?”

Louis may be able to go from being aroused to being in charge, but those two things don’t appear to be very separate for Harry. Louis being in charge is _doing_ things to him.

“Erm,” he says. “Yes?”

“Do you think she’d try healing Liam?” Louis continues, and that derails Harry’s erection a bit. “Is she very strong?”

Harry shrugs. “I dunno. I don’t really see her much, but I guess so? I think Gems said that her family’s never had to go to the hospital?”

Louis’ entire face lights up. “Really?” he says. “Do you think she’s awake now?”

“Lou. We’re in prison.”

“Yeah but we’ve got Eleanor. El?”

Eleanor makes a noise from somewhere to their right. “Yeah?” she says. “Are you two done kissing and making up?”

“Do you think you could teleport in here?” Louis says. “If I described it to you?”

Eleanor is silent for a moment. “I dunno,” she says finally. “I’d really rather not get split in pieces...”

“Please, El,” Louis says. “Please.”

“Hang on. You want to go after Sophia now?” Harry clarifies. “Lou. You’re in prison.”

Louis waves a hand. “So are you, babes,” he says.

Harry’s head goes real fuzzy. “Yeah, because I’m an idiot,” he says. “We’ve already been over that.”

Louis’ face softens and he stops pouting off towards Eleanor long enough to pinch Harry’s cheeks. “You are a bit of an idiot Styles, aren’t you,” he says gently. “But you’re my idiot.”

“Always your idiot,” Harry says happily. “Always yours.”

Louis smiles back at him and goes to kiss him again. And Harry can work with this. Like he wants to find Sophia and see if she can fix Liam, but he also would like to kiss Louis and maybe do whatever comes _after_ kissing Louis because Louis is alive and not a murderer and everything is _wonderful_.

“Okay I can’t say I wish the two of you hadn’t made up,” Zayn starts to say.

“But please stop kissing next to me,” Perrie finishes. “Please. I am a prisoner in my own home.”

“At least the lights aren’t on,” says Eleanor. “At least we don’t have to bleach our brains.”

Which is of course when the lights flash on and the door to the cells slam open.

At the top of the stairs, a visibly unimpressed Niall Horan appears.

“Niall!” Harry says. “Hey, so, have you got the spare key?”

Niall doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move.

Harry pulls further away from Louis’ mouth and glances down at the way they’re pressed together. He doesn’t remember hauling one of Louis’ legs up around his hips but apparently he did that, so.

When he looks around, Zayn and Perrie are about as far away from his and Louis’ cell as they can physically be with their back to the two of them. Eleanor is staring back at Harry with both of her eyebrows raised. This is probably why Harry had actually thought she was competition in the fight for Louis’ affection.

He gives Louis a half smile before stepping away, only before he can, Louis’ leg tightens around his hip.

“I am wearing trackies,” he says out of the side of his mouth. “You are to blame for this.” He points angrily down between his legs.

Harry follows his fingers like a dog with a bone.

“You are not moving,” Louis finishes. He turns a sunny smile on Niall over Harry’s shoulder. “Niall.”

Niall still isn’t moving or saying anything, which is actually a little bit worrying, now that Harry thinks about it. He frowns.

“Ni?”

“Remember those bubble exercises, H?” Niall says finally, _still_ not moving. “Maybe forget them, yeah?”

Harry blinks, because he hadn’t been aware that he was using his powers, let alone affecting the entire room, but before he can think more on that, a figure is stepping around Niall and heading down the stairs.

And then the lights go out again.

And then Zayn says, “What the fuck, _Ni_?”

And Niall says, “He had a fucking knife--”

And Eleanor shouts, “I’d really like to not be in a cell right now!”

And Louis is still wrapped around Harry--

And then the door to their cell slides open and there are footsteps--

The last thing Harry remembers is the terrified look on Louis’ face before something connects with the back of his head and everything goes black.

\--

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE CLIFFHANGERS. The rebloggable masterpost is [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/128653896720/title-my-love-is-a-fortress-my-love-is-a-louvre) on my tumblr. Please reblog it and also feel free to say hi! Final chapter can hopefully be up by the end of this week betas schedules permitting.


	7. Final Issue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’S DONE IT’S DONE IT’S DONE. Everybody enjoy and I’m so sorry it took me months to update.
> 
>  **Warning:** this chapter includes a non-graphic description of torture via electrocution. It lasts about two paragraphs and is not discussed in high level detail (although there is quite a bit of discussion leading up to the actual point of torture), but if that’s not your jam, when our villain ‘ **connects the lead** ’ skip down to where there are two of our villain, :) 
> 
> If you want to skip all mentions, click to the endnotes for a more detailed play-by-play of what you’re missing, and then click go to the first section break (text begins with ' **When he opens his eyes** '). Please don’t read anything you’re not comfortable with!
> 
> Betaed by Vic and Syd. Britpicked by Jess. All other mistakes are my own.

**Final Issue**

\--

**A Warehouse Hopefully Still In London: Present Day**

\--

Harry wakes up in a place no less dark and dank than the cells under the X-Factor mansion. There are considerably fewer bars and considerably more random boxes, so Harry’s guessing it’s a warehouse of some sort. He can’t really make out much of anything beyond that, but he knows better than to say anything. His kidnapper hasn’t gagged him and he’s not about to point that out.

His kidnapper also appears to have sat him on a very uncomfortable wooden chair and trussed him up like a prize turkey. At first struggle, Harry can’t quite work out what it is he’s tied with--ropes of some sort, but they feel rougher and harsher than usual. He glances down at the intricate maze of lacing around his torso and frowns. Now that he’s looking, it looks like he’s been strung up with wire. Whoever grabbed him obviously knows what they’re doing.

 _Fuck_ , Harry thinks to himself. He twists his wrists around in consideration, deciding that, yes, his wrists have been tied separately from the rest of him. _Double fuck_.

Also, his head _aches_ , much like he’s been whacked with something, and that train of thought is enough to jar him back into action.

 _Louis_. Louis had been with him. Hell, Niall had been forced into letting whoever it was into the damn cells. That meant whoever it was had to have known they were mutants, or at least known enough about them to locate the X-Factor Mansion. Odds are, they’re a mutant too.

Harry snaps to a higher level of attention than before, wincing only a little at the throb of his head. When he goes to expand his powers around himself like a bubble of protection, the pain only gets worse. For one panicked moment Harry worries that whoever hit him has damaged him permanently, but then the memory of Professor Teasdale lecturing him on overstretching his powers like he would a physical muscle filters through. He lets the bubble dissolve around him and grits his teeth, trying very hard to be content with the fact that no one will be able to touch him to torture him.

That’s...good, Harry supposes. He glances around the warehouse a few more times.

“Argh,” says someone, and Harry’s head snaps around to face the ground, which does wonders for the headache.

His eyes land on Louis, sprawled just out of reach and sporting a nasty looking cut across his forehead. He isn’t tied up and he isn’t conscious yet, but he’s getting there, brow furrowing and eyes moving under his lids.

Harry glances around the room again a little more frantically and finds it empty. Whoever captured them must be somewhere else, or behind Harry, where he can’t see.

On the ground, Louis is stirring. “Harry?” he mumbles.

“Louis,” Harry replies helplessly. “Run. Get out of here.” There’s a door in front of them and it’s probably locked or guarded from the outside but it’s still worth a shot. “Louis, please.”

Louis looks like he’s fully awake now, but he’s still sprawled across the floor and his eyes still look bleary. Still, he focuses in on Harry’s voice, and as soon as he spots him he gets up and goes in the opposite direction to the door.

Harry shakes his head at him, even as Louis is stumbling towards him and starting to tug at the wires.

“Harry--what--” Louis tries to say, before a hand comes out of nowhere and backhands him away from Harry.

Harry’s entire body shakes, muscle straining against the wire, and he’s squirming around to see if he can do something. Bite the hand, if he can.

As quick as their kidnapper had moved, they move back where Harry can’t see them anymore.

Harry snaps his teeth around air.

In front of him, Louis is getting back to his feet, cheek bright red, and comes back over to Harry’s side with his eyes blazing.

“Louis,” Harry whispers. “Go.”

Louis gives up on the wire and puts both hands on Harry’s knees. “I’m not leaving you,” he says softly. “I don’t run away.”

Harry winces despite himself, because _ouch_. He hadn’t ever said that out loud, but it had been pretty implied, what with him believing Louis had killed Liam.

Louis shoots him an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”

Harry starts to respond, but before he can, someone starts clapping. “How touching,” he says.

From the sound of his voice, Harry has no idea who he is.

But Louis obviously does. “Ben,” he says, spitting the name out. “What the fuck is your problem, mate?”

The man--Ben Winston, evidently--still hasn’t stepped around so Harry can see him, but he keeps talking anyway. “It’s nice to know that you still love Tomlinson best even if he’s a murderous supervillain,” he says.

Harry grits his teeth. “Yes,” he says. “But he’s not a murdering supervillain.”

“No?” Ben Winston doesn’t sound surprised.

“No,” Harry repeats. “But you are.”

That seems to get a laugh out of Ben Winston, and Louis’s grip on Harry’s hands tightens.

Harry just keeps his head up and grits his teeth. “You’re not going to deny that?”

Ben Winston’s laughter fades out. “Mmm,” he says. “Would you believe me?”

“Well, seeing as I cannot see you,” Harry points out, a tad more snappish than he probably should be.

Ben Winston seems to think that one over, before he’s circling around. When he comes to stand in front of Harry, his face isn’t recognizable in the slightest. Not like his name had been, but then, Harry isn’t his target. Louis is. Louis is the one he’s been chasing around London framing for murder.

“Hello, Harry,” says Ben Winston. “Miss me?”

Harry pauses. He glances down at Louis. Then back up at Ben Winston. Then down at Louis one more.

Ben Winston stares back at him expectantly

Louis glances between the two of them questioningly.

“I’m sorry but do I know you?” Harry says finally. He just barely keeps from shutting his eyes, since probably this is not the answer Ben Winston is looking for.

Instead of making him angry, like Harry’s extensive secondary superhero schooling is telling him it should, Harry’s confusion just seems to further amuse Ben, who is circling in front of Harry and Louis like some sort of hungry lion. “You don’t know who I am?” asks Ben, not at all sounding like he’s going to start punching Harry for that.

“No?” Harry tries, still not sure if it’s all a farce and Ben is in fact going to punch him. Er, Ben Winston. It doesn’t feel like they should be on a first-name basis.

“That’s not that surprising, actually,” says Ben Winston. “You were very young.”

So they have met before, then. This information isn’t doing anything to jog Harry’s memory--he’s sure he met _many_ people when he was young--but it is doing wonders to unnerve him. Harry tries turning his head towards Louis, still sat on the ground at his feet with his cheek bright red. _Get out of here_ , he tries to say with his eyes. _Please_.

Louis stares back at him like he knows exactly what Harry is asking of him and ignores him. _Never_ , his eyes say.

Harry has never been more in love with him nor has he ever wanted to strangle him more.

Louis quirks a half smile back at him in return. _Likewise_ , his smirk says.

If they make it out of this alive, they are going to have words about this, Harry decides.

There’s a loud sound, and Harry forces his attention back off Louis to stare up at their captor, who has stopped circling the two of them and is  now rolling up his sleeves. “Aren’t you two sweet,” he says, stepping back a bit and reaching behind a row of boxes. “That’s good.” He pulls out something that looks like a car battery.

Harry’s brain starts connecting the dots between the wooden chair and his wiry prison and he swallows.

“All part of my plan, actually,” Ben Winston continues. “You see. I don’t really need you, Harry.” He sets the battery down on the ground and starts unwinding some jump leads.

On the floor, Louis seems to be connecting the dots as well. His grip on Harry’s hands tightens before he abruptly lets go. For the first time, Harry notices that Ben has put gloves on Louis. So he knows what their powers are, then.

“I don’t really need you,” Ben Winston repeats. “You’re more like--” He walks forward and shoves his way past Louis, who’s pretty obviously caught on and is now very frantically trying to keep himself between the two of them. “--incentive.” He clips one of the leads to the wires holding Harry prisoner.

“No, fuck, no,” says Louis, grappling for the lead with both hands.  “No--listen--Ben--”

Ben grabs hold of Louis’ flailing limbs and starts back towards the battery, hauling him as he goes.

Louis fights him the whole way, half shouting for Harry the entire time and very clearly panicking. He gets one hand free and scrabbles for the glove, pulls it down his arm with his teeth and slaps his hand to whatever bit of Ben Winston he can find. “No, fucking--don’t do this--Ben--please--” Louis’ white in the face now, every muscle in his body taut, as he fights against Ben’s grip on his arms with the powers he was born with.

“Very good,” says Ben, sounding pained but pleased, as the veins in his forearms start to stand out, blue and purple and throbbing with each second that Louis keeps touching him. “Very good.”

Louis gets free of him with a well aimed kick and goes scrabbling back towards Harry, plastering himself to his side and crouching half in front of him. His head is held high. “You’ll have to torture both of us,” he says, voice carrying across the floor. When Harry tries to speak to him, he pulls off the second glove and tosses it across the room to join the other.

Ben appears to have caught his breath where he’s sprawled on the floor next to the second jumper lead. “Now that I can’t do,” he says finally, breathing only a little hard. “You see, I do actually need you, Tomlinson.”

Louis only wavers slightly. “Why do you know my name?” he says finally. “What’s your problem with me?”

“I don’t have any problems with you,” says Ben. “I have problems with your boyfriend.”

Louis slips a hand back behind him to grip onto Harry’s thigh, giving it a squeeze. “What about Harry?” he asks.

Ben brings a hand up to his face. “He’s the one who did this to me,” he says. “It’s his fault we’re here.”

Harry blinks, confused. He has no idea who Ben Winston even is, let alone why he’s been chasing Louis around London framing him for murder, and nothing about this electrocution situation is doing any more to help him with that.

Ben appears to be looking expectantly at Harry now, so Harry blinks a few more times.

“Me?” he says again. “I’m sorry I really have no idea who you are.”

That finally seems to get a reaction out of Ben, because for a split second his entire face looks angry, before he composes himself. “We ran into each other at X-Factor,” he says finally, before getting to his feet and grabbing the second lead. “I think you were just visiting your sister,” he continues. “And I didn’t look like this, of course.”

Harry stares back at him. “Of course,” he says sarcastically. “How the _fuck_ am I supposed to know who you are, then.”

Louis’ hand on his thigh tightens again. “Not helping, Haz,” he says out the side of his mouth.

Harry ignores him.

“You’re missing the point,” says Ben, still not seeming all that bothered. “See, you probably think I’m a normal person.”

There is a long pause.

“Is this a trick question?” Harry says finally. “Lou. Is this a trick question?”

Louis pats him on the thigh a bit. “Absolutely no idea, Haz,” he says, still out the side of his mouth. “No _fucking_ idea.”

“I mean not a mutant,” Ben clarifies, finishing hooking up the first lead and starting towards the two of them again.

Louis goes stiff against Harry.

“You probably think I’m not a mutant.” He comes to a stop in front of the two of them, just out of Louis’ immediate reach.

“You aren’t, mate,” Louis says finally, voice tight. “Pez said--”

“Pez lied,” interrupts Ben, and then before Louis can interject, “well, no. She didn’t lie. She’s just wrong.”

Louis lifts his chin higher. “ _Perrie_ is never wrong,” he says stiffly, putting emphasis on her name in what Harry feels like is a very pointed ‘fuck you’ to Ben for using her nickname.  “Ever.”

Ben reaches out and grabs hold of Louis’ chin and pulls his face in close, ignoring the effects of their skin to skin contact.

Harry starts struggling at his bindings in earnest now, gritting his teeth and trying to figure out if he can break a chair leg by falling on it hard enough.

“Now that’s where you would be wrong, Tomlinson,” says Ben. “Because I am a mutant, see.”

And then he lets go of Louis’ chin and takes one step back and just sort of. Frowns at the two of them.

Harry stops struggling almost at the novelty of it, because what  is supposed to be happening? Telepathy? Telekinesis? Some sort of pain causing mental power?

But then Ben’s face does this weird thing and all of a sudden he has different eyes. Not just a different color, but a different shape. Louis’ eyes, actually. A near perfect copy of Louis’ eyes, down the very last eyelash.

Harry stares up at him with his lips parted. “You’re a shifter,” he breathes.

Ben’s lips twitch upwards into a smile. “Guilty,” he says.

“But Perrie said you weren’t a mutant,” says Louis, glancing between Ben and Harry frantically. “Perrie is never wrong.”

Harry has to concede that’s true, because Perrie has never been wrong about anyone’s mutation in her life. The first day she’d arrived at the school Simon himself had walked her around the grounds and had her point out both primary and secondary mutations. She’s never been wrong.

Ben continues to grin like the cat that got the cream, but then his face seems to flicker a little, and his eyes go back to normal. Instantly he scowls, hands tightening into fists, and Harry knows very little about shape shifting, but he’d wager a guess that he’s still actively trying to shift. And as evidenced by the rapidly growing scowl, it’s not working. “That is also true,” he says finally, not at all pleased. “Which brings us back to you, Harry.”

“Me?” Harry says, somewhat hysterically. “What does that have to do with me?”

But Louis is looking between the two of them with something like realization dawning in his eyes. “Hazza?” he says faintly. “Have you ever taken someone’s powers away for an extended period of time?”

Harry blinks at him, before horrific understanding starts to make itself at home in his chest as well. “Um,” he says slowly. “The other day I accidentally took away Niall’s powers for a bit?” he says, and it’s not supposed to be a question, but it comes out like one anyway.

He doesn’t really remember Ben, but all of a sudden he remembers that time Gemma sprained her wrist over the summer and it took three full days to heal. At the time, Harry’d just thought his sister was getting old. Now, he realizes that it was probably because he’d touched her as soon as she’d cried out in pain.

Everything makes horrible sense now. Horrible, _horrible_ sense. Harry took away Ben’s _powers_.

Ben’s entire posture closes off.

“But I gave them back,” Harry continues frantically. “This was before we knew that Liam was alive and you weren’t a murder--you’ve seen Niall--he has his powers.”

“Yeah,” says Louis, but he still sounds shaken. “Harry.”

Before either of them can react, Ben reaches out and grabs onto Louis, pulling him away from Harry hard.

Louis doesn’t have time to react, doesn’t have time to stand his ground, and Ben hauls him around with one hand and clips the jumper lead into place with the other, before starting on his way back towards the battery with Louis in tow.

“What are you doing--what are you _doing_ \--” Louis shouts, fighting the grip that Ben has around him and reaching back for Harry, who is absolutely frozen. “No-- _no_ \--!”

“Now as you can see,” continues Ben, as if he isn’t about to torture Harry with Louis present. “My powers aren’t gone permanently either.” He fiddles with the end of the lead not attached to the battery.

Louis bites into his forearm, which gets him a swift kick in the shins.

“I suppose I should be thanking you for that, Harry? Or you should be thanking yourself? Who _knows_ what I’d have done if I didn’t have a goal to work towards.”

Harry’s brain is very frantically trying to figure out what Ben intends to do, but in the split-second it takes for that seed to be planted, he shudders. In a sense, what he did to Gemma and Niall wasn’t nearly as bad as what he did to Ben, because with Gemma and Niall, they’d gotten their powers back almost instantly. From the sounds of it, Ben’s been without his for _years_. Harry doesn’t want to think about what he would have done if his powers hadn’t started coming back.

Ben is still talking. “A few months back and all I could do was change an eyebrow, see. And it wouldn’t even stay for longer than a second. But it was _something_.”

Louis stops biting Ben with a strangled, frustrated yelp, before kicking and struggling harder. “Harry--”

Harry tries to smile comfortingly at him, even as he starts twisting at the ropes holding his wrists behind him in earnest. He might have to dislocate his hand, but he could get free if he had to.

“But also as you can see, it’s been a slow process,” says Ben. “At this rate, I’ll be an old man before I can shift properly again. Before I can be _myself_ again.”

Louis stops struggling long enough to spit out, “Like you’re not an old man right now?” before Ben kicks him again, hard enough to take his legs out from under him.

Louis goes down onto his knees with a wince and a thud.

Harry starts weighing the pros and cons about getting his hands free. “I understand that I...took your powers away?” he says, pausing awkwardly before putting that out there. “But what does that have to do with Louis--?”

“You didn’t just take my powers away,” spits Ben, composure finally broken. “You took my entire _life_.”

Harry blinks.

“Two weeks later and I’d been expelled for failing all my exams. Then I was on the streets.”

Harry blinks again. “What--”

“All you did was catch me _plagiarizing_ ,” Ben carries on. “It wasn’t the end of the world.”

Harry’s starting to think that it might have been, for little however old Harry. But, God. He hadn’t meant to take away someone’s powers for good. He hadn’t even thought it was that big of a deal--hadn’t made an effort to stop by Professor Teasdale’s after he’d zapped Niall. After he’d zapped his best friend.

“Which is where you come in, Tommo,” Ben continues. “Now if you don’t want Hazza here.” He shoves Louis off of him and pulls out a pair or rubber gloves. “To get fried to a crisp.” He finishes with the first one faster than Harry had hoped. “You’re going to absorb my powers.”

There’s a beat.

“What?” Louis says finally, voice wavering only a little. “You want me to what?”

“You heard me,” says Ben, tossing the second glove away. He sounds like he’s enjoying Louis’ full attention far too much.

Harry locks his jaw and starts to work on the ropes in earnest, glad the attention is off of him. Also his phone is in his jeans pocket, which is just lovely. It’s even a new model.

As if he can tell exactly what he’s doing, Louis glances back at him, before continuing. “What the _fuck_ do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time?” he tells Ben, getting to his feet and slapping a bare hand to his cheek. “As you can see, nothing is _bloody_ happening.”

Ben looks a little fainter and a little crazier but Louis’ powers still aren’t affecting him like they do with mutants.

“Nice plan, though,” Louis continues, going to pull his hand back.

“No, don’t,” says Ben, and he grabs Louis’ hand before he can move. “You’re just not trying hard enough.”

Louis looks unimpressed. “What--”

“You just need a little incentive,” Ben continues and Louis’ eyes grow big.

“Don’t--”

Ben connects the lead.  


And then someone starts screaming. For a second, Harry isn’t sure who it is--maybe it’s Louis, it could be Louis, why is Louis screaming--but then it registers that it’s his voice cracking down the middle, before all he can think about is pain. It’s not even that much pain, probably, because Ben hasn’t turned up the voltage all that high, and he should probably stop screaming--that’s just what Ben wants him to do, but he can’t really work out how to get his mouth to stop and it burns white hot and all consuming and making every nerve in Harry’s body scream out--

And then it stops.

“Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it--” Louis’ voice sounds like a broken record, and when Harry manages to get his head up to look he finds him in a crumpled heap attached to Ben’s hand like some sort of terrible life line. “Stop it, _please_ \--” Louis continues to say, and when he looks up his cheeks are wet.

Come to think of it, so are Harry’s. When had he even started crying?

Ben look down at the lines of throbbing veins along his forearm and frowns, tightening his grip on Louis’ hand and pulling him up so that he’s standing. “You’re not trying hard enough,” he decides finally, and connects the lead again.

This time Harry is half ready for it, teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut, but Louis starts speaking again and it seems to go on for even longer--

When it stops, Louis has both of his hands on Ben’s face and his eyes shut tight, and Ben looks like he’s convulsing.

Harry’s about three seconds from shouting at Ben to call it off, because he knows that Louis’ sent people to the hospital before and it’s not fucking worth it just for one little mutation--

But then Louis’ entire body seems to ripple and suddenly there are two Ben Winstons in the room, across from Harry, staring back at each other.

“What the fuck--?” says the one of them that is Louis, but before Harry can try to focus on that, the other one is hauling them both up to their full height, looking gleeful. And then before Louis can pull his hand back he’s gripping him tighter, holding onto his hand tighter.

Harry doesn’t think that’s actually a good idea, because even though Louis seems to have somehow jump started Ben’s mutation, there’s nothing to stop him from killing him at this point.

The two Ben Winstons disappear from Harry’s line of vision.

“Seriously, _what the fuck_ \--?” says one of them, from behind Harry now. Then there are fingers on the ropes tying his wrists together, until Harry is able to pull his hands around in front of him.

The Ben Winstons step back around in front of Harry.

“Harry,” says one of them--Louis-- “Harry, I don’t know what I’m doing--”

“Don’t listen to him, Hazza,” says the other one of them, doing a remarkable impression of Louis as well-- “He’s trying to trick you--”

“Don’t listen to _him_ , Harry--it’s me--I’m Louis--it’s me--”

Harry stares between the two of them frantically, and he thinks Louis is the one on the right but he honestly doesn’t know. “It doesn’t matter which is which,” he says finally, voice only shaking a little. He sounds exactly like he’s been screaming on and off for the past few minutes. “It won’t matter because you’ll be dead, Ben.” He addresses both of them because it’s true.

The Ben on the left’s face goes from panicked and pleading to stoic in an instant. “That’s true,” he says finally. “But what will that do to him, you think?”

Harry opens his mouth and then closes it.

The Ben on the right starts shaking it’s head instantly. “Harry, no--it’s okay--I’ll be okay--”

“What will Professor _Grimshaw_ do to him?” the Ben on the left continues. “When he’s actually a murderer.”

“Harry, don’t, he’s a murderer--he killed _Ed_ \--”

Harry shuts his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lou,” he says quietly, before reaching out and putting both of his hands on each of the Ben’s arms.

\--

When he opens his eyes, all he can see is Louis, kneeling next to him, looking torn between kissing him and tearing him a new one. They’re still on the floor of the warehouse but Harry’s legs are still wire strapped to the chair, his cheek stings a little, and his head hasn’t stopped throbbing.

Harry blinks. “Did you slap me?” he asks, somewhat redundantly.

Louis doesn’t look like he can decide if he wants to laugh or cry. “Harry,” he says breathlessly.

Harry manages a smile. “Hi,” he says. He shifts around on the chair.

“You fainted,” Louis explains. “Sorry.”

Harry keeps smiling up at him. “S’okay,” he says.

“You idiot,” Louis says finally, voice very watery. “Why the fuck did you let him go?” He keeps plucking at the wires that had been holding Harry hostage even as he keeps speaking. “Simon’d have got me off on manslaughter or self defense--it would have been okay.”

Harry blinks a few times and puts his hands on top of Louis’ and stills them, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You’re not a murderer, Lou,” he says gently. “I’m sorry I ever thought you were.”

And Louis stares back him like he can’t believe it for a long moment, before his entire face breaks into a tearful smile. He starts to punch Harry in the arm, probably going for friendly, but then doesn’t seem able to stop. “You idiot,” he says again. “God. I don’t blame you, Haz.” He buries his face in Harry’s neck and hugs him. “We told Zayn we were going to move on.”

Harry circles his arms around Louis tighter and thinks to himself that that’s true, they have, but he feels like he should keep apologizing anyway.

“But I am sorry,” Harry tells Louis’ hair.

“If you’re going to keep apologizing to me then I’m going to keep apologizing to you,” says Louis. “And something tells me Zayn isn’t going to tolerate that for more than a couple of hours.”

Harry tightens his grip on Louis and hides a smile behind Louis’ ear. “No,” he agrees. “But fuck him.”

Louis finally pulls back  and looks at him. “Harry, Zayn is like my brother,” he tells him firmly. “There will be no fucking people who are like my brother.”

Harry grins back at him. “Of course,” he says dazedly. “You have a brother, now.”

Louis blinks, pausing from where he’s started untying Harry’s legs. “What?”

Harry gets a leg free and starts to help Louis with the other one. “Yeah, Jay had twins a few months ago. One of them’s a boy. His name’s Ernest--he really likes football, even though he can’t talk and Lottie says that he’s just showing interest because I’m attached to the ball, but I know it’s not that,” he continues.  

Louis is worryingly silent for a long moment.

When Harry checks on him, he finds him tearful again

“Lou--”

Louis scrambles to his feet and climbs basically into Harry’s lap. “I love you so much, Haz,” he says into Harry’s neck. “I missed you so fucking much.”

Harry strokes over his back a few times and hugs him back. “I love you too,” he says softly. “I love you too.”

Louis gives him one last squeeze. “Now don’t you ever do that again.” He pulls back and flicks Harry on the ear.

Harry yelps, pulling away. “Do what--ow!”

Louis flicks him again. “Never again,” he says.

“Ow--Louis--ow--what--!”

In the ensuing struggle to get away from Louis and his evil hands, the chair tips over.

When Niall, Zayn, Liam, Sophia, and Eleanor come charging into the warehouse a few moments later, that’s the sight they’re faced with; Harry and Louis on the floor in a heap surrounded by chicken wire and bits of the chair.

“I don’t even want to know” says Zayn.

“Can I go back into the coma?” says Liam.

“Aw, I was all set to rescue them like a proper hero,” says Niall. “Can we do that again?”

Harry looks between the three of them, and then back up at Louis. “Love you,” he whispers, and goes to kiss him again.

\--

“You’ll never guess how it went down,” says Niall, as they make their way through the maze of the warehouse in search of Ben Winston. “Like, you and Lou are pretty sickeningly sweet but Liam and Sophia might have taken your crown.”

Harry turns away from where he’s been basically smiling at Louis like a lovesick fool and glares  back at Niall. His head still hurts a little, his mouth is dry as a bone, and he is basically holding Louis’ hand so that he doesn’t fall over, but all in all he thinks he and Louis are pretty damn adorable. Certainly more so than Sophia and Liam.

Niall stares back at him. “What?”

Harry looks at Niall, and then at his and Louis’ joined hands, and then pointedly at Niall again.

Niall raises both of his hands. “She woke him up from a coma with true-love’s-kiss, mate,” he exclaims. “Call me up when Louis does something like that.”

“Technically it was a healer’s kiss,” points out Zayn. “Anyone could have done it. Hell, Jaymi could have done it.”

Niall jabs a pointer into Zayn’s chest. “Jaymi did jack all that first time you visited him,” he says gleefully. “Jaymi wasn’t able to do anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m just saying,” says Zayn, but Niall has plugged his ears.

“La la la I can’t hear you over the sound of the birds singing,” he says. “They see Prince Liam coming and they just can’t help themselves. He just has that effect on them.”

From where he’s been heading their search party, Liam ignores the lot of them and just keeps walking. His ears look a little pinker than usual, but that’s probably because Sophia had planted one on him before Eleanor whisked her away in search of back up. Harry had a been more than a little distracted by the whole recovering from electrocution and on the spot healing at the time, so he hadn’t been able to tease Liam about that.

“Prince Liam?” says Louis, who _had_ found time to tease Liam even as he glared at Harry for not mentioning the recovering from electrocution thing sooner.

“Well I don’t discriminate,” says Niall. “There’s no reason Sophia can’t be Liam’s Princess in Shining Armor.”

Liam’s ears go a little pink.

“You’re saying that like they’re suddenly dating,” Louis says dryly, swinging his and Harry’s hands around a little bit. “She just saved him, yeah?”

Niall opens his mouth to respond, but before he can respond, the tiniest of plasma beams goes sailing past his left ear.

“Whoops, my mistake. Sorry, Ni,” says Liam brightly, coming to a stop in front of the stairwell. “Up or down?”

Zayn steps to the front of the group to confer with Liam, and Louis and Niall exchange knowing glances, ending with Niall waggling his eyebrows and Louis looking pleased as can be.

“I’m going to say he went up,” Harry decides, because Ben Winston strikes him as the sort of person who would want to escape in style. Like with a helicopter.

When he meets the other lad’s eyes, they all seem to agree with him. “Right,” says Liam. “Up it is, then.”

“Really there’s only that direction anyway,” Harry continues, without really knowing where he’s going with this. “I mean, you said two directions but there’s only one direction.”

Louis shoots him a semi-worried look and tightens his grip as they head up the fight of stairs. “Are you sure you’re fine?” he starts to say but Harry keeps walking, squeezing Louis’ hands, because he’s fine.

Well, he’s not one-hundred percent, certainly, but he’ll have plenty of time to recuperate when Ben Winston isn’t trying to escape.

“Like that’s the direction,” he says. “The only direction. One Direction.” He turns to face Louis seriously mid step. “We should call ourselves One Direction.”

“Okay that does sound cool,” says Louis, slapping a hand to Harry’s forehead and frowning hard at him. “But are you sure you’re okay? Sophia’s not a practicing healer.” He turns to glare towards Liam, like it’s his fault Sophia was the only person available to help Harry.

“That’s not very fair,” Harry says, poking at the corners of Louis’ mouth where they’ve turned down. “And I’m _fine_ , Lou, honest.”

Louis looks at him sharply.

“I’ll be more fine once we’ve caught Ben Winston and someone else can look at me,” Harry concedes, because his head does ache. “But I think it’s just shock.”

Louis looks at him for another long moment, eyes flickering up and down Harry’s frame like he’s daring Harry to lie to him, before nodding. “Fine,” he says warily. “But as soon as we catch this arsehole you’re going straight to Simon.”

Harry makes a humming noise and they all continue in silence.

“So….One Direction,” Liam says finally, as they’re nearing the top.

“One Direction,” Niall agrees. “I think it sounds cool.”

Harry makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat.

“Why are we naming ourselves again, though?” Niall continues. They’ve reached the door to the roof now, and Harry can hear the sound of a helicopter.

“Because we’re a superhero team,” Harry explains to Niall, who looks increasingly more stokedabout getting to fight crime. “And Ben Winston is our first supervillain.”

“Bit of a shit villain, to be honest,” mutters Zayn, but his lips twitch despite himself.

“Okay, great,” says Niall. “But first. Group hug.” He holds out his arms and waits.

“Niall, he could be getting away,” Liam starts to complain.

“Niall, he’s definitely getting away,” Zayn starts to point out.

But before the two of them can continue, Louis interjects: “Niall, he definitely doesn’t know how to fly a helicopter. Bring it in.”

It’s just as good as their shitty Liam’s-not-dead-group hug had been, if not better.

“Phenomenal,” says Niall, as they pull apart. “Now let’s go bash some heads in.”

\--

**X-Factor Mansion: Present Day**

**\--**

“--And that’s when Liam shot plasma beams at the helicopter,” says Niall, around a mouthful of chips. “And Louis just reached in and grabbed him, which was scary for like five seconds when there were two of them--”

“You try shapeshifting,” snaps Louis, curling further into Harry’s side. “It’s not bloody easy.”

Harry runs a hand down his back and soothes him like he would a cat. They haven’t had a chance to talk much on their own, since once they’d all been transported back through portals and teleportation and flying, they’d all been descended upon by most of the school.

All of them had been forced to see a healer, which Harry had to admit had helped, since his head hurt a lot less than it had on the roof, and he wasn’t quite as jumpy as he had been.

Then Gemma had arrived with Sophia, having been brought up to speed, which meant that the first thing she did when she saw the five of them was try to punch Louis in the face.

Harry had put a stop to that, but Niall had high fived her anyway since he actually _had_ punched Louis in the face, which lead to Louis being mock offended and Harry threatening to disown both Gemma and Niall, and Liam had ended up stepping between the three of them with his hands raised.

After that, there had been obligatory fussing over Louis and Zayn by pretty much every person of authority in their lives. Professor Alvarez had gone to half smile and gotten pulled into a full body hug; Professor Higgins had gotten a fist bump; Professor Mahon had put Zayn in a headlock; even Nick had sort of shook his head at the two of them.

Then Louis had gotten fed up with the emotions and mentioned that Harry had been tortured, at which point Gemma actually did hit him and the fussing switched over to Harry.

He and Louis had only managed to escape after Professor Flack had finished dressing him down for accidentally creating his own super villain.

Now, the five of them have taken up residence on one of the giant sofas with a bowl of crisps and an eager audience of younger students.

Niall is loving this.

“It was really hard,” Louis mumbles, turning his head further into Harry’s side and making another disgruntled noise. “I felt like if I didn’t turn into Ben I was just going to turn into _nothing_.”

Harry would like to say that he totally doesn’t turn into a clucking mother hen, but he totally does. No one can blame him--he’s just recovered from being tortured.

That does also explain why Louis is so clingy as well. Since they’ve arrived, he’s not let go of Harry’s hand once. Out loud, this is because he doesn’t want to accidentally break the mansion, but Harry knows it’s more than that, because Louis’ still wearing his gloves. Either way, he’s content to cuddle Louis back as long as he needs.

And maybe a bit longer than that, because Harry needs it as well.

“I can’t believe you made your own super villain, though,” says Zayn suddenly, jolting Harry out of his own little Louis-inhabited world. “At like five.”

Harry lifts his head and looks over at Zayn over Louis’ head.  ‘Piss off,’ he mouths, careful of the children, who are now pestering Liam for a plasma beam show.

Zayn raises one lone eyebrow and dips his eyes down to Louis.

‘I know,’ Harry mouths back.

“But really,” Zayn says. “You accidentally made a nemesis.”

Gemma  comes into the room plops herself down between Harry and Niall, sticking a hand in Harry’s hair. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?” she says, tugging on Harry’s curls until it stops being nice and starts being annoying. “Only Harry.”

Louis makes an angry-ish noise into Harry’s collar bones.

Harry pets him again. “He wasn’t a very good nemesis,” he points out. “We caught him in like five seconds.”

“Yeah, well, you and Louis are at least level three mutants,” interrupts Perrie, wandering into the room with Jesy, Jade, and Leigh-Anne on her heels. “And Liam can create fire.”

“Plasma,” pipes up Liam. “What level am I?”

Sophia brings up the rear of the group, following in with Taylor and Eleanor and looking very much out of place.

Almost immediately Liam goes a bit pink.

Harry nudges Louis until Louis turns his head to look at the two of them.

“Never mind,” says Liam quickly, even though Perrie wouldn’t tell him anyway.

Louis’ been trying to get Perrie to tell them what category they all are for years, but she’s always said the system was stupid and not worth knowing. Louis had always said he didn’t care as long as he was more powerful than Nick. Perrie had always shook her head at him and told him to do his coursework, Tomlinson. ‘At least a level three’ isn’t very specific, but it’s closer than anyone else knows.

Louis sticks his tongue out at Liam and Harry can’t help but grin.

“Anyway,” Zayn pointedly continues. “Of the lot of us, Harry is the only one who has a nemesis.”

“Luke will be my nemesis,” interrupts Louis, finally lifting his head from Harry’s chest and point at Zayn. “Fucking Grimshaw would be my nemesis.”

“Yes, but sadly for you, Tomlinson, I remain a superhero,” Nick says dryly, passing through the room carrying a stack of paperwork.

Louis sticks out his tongue at him as well. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Nick manages to flick two fingers up at him as he passes without any of the younger students noticing.

“I don’t think it counts if you have to ask them to be your nemesis,” says Liam, brow furrowing. “And anyway. Didn’t you say you thought Five Seconds of Summer were half alright?”

Louis shoots Liam a look.

Liam blushes a little and raises both his hands. “Just because I was in a coma doesn’t mean I was deaf, Louis,” he mutters. “I, um. Heard most of it.”

Louis is staring at Liam with what Harry thinks is rapidly becoming horror, so he rushes to interrupt.

“Only good things, though, right, Liam? You only heard good things?”

Liam glances between Louis, Zayn, and Harry. “Yes?”

Louis and Zayn have entered into a vicious whispering match--

“ _Why didn’t you tell me he could hear me, Zayn, you traitor--_ ”

“ _I definitely told you,_ Louis _, and so did Eleanor_ \--”

“ _Oh my god why didn’t you tell me--I can never live this down_ \--”

\--and Harry is sure his own smile isn’t comforting.

“I mean yes,” Liam repeats. “It was only good things, Lou.”

He is absolutely not convincing.

Louis drops his head back onto Harry’s chest with a thud. “Hazza, don’t worry about your nemesis being arrested--I can be your nemesis--I’m going to retire into the wilds of France and become a supervillain.”

“Right,” says Harry.

“I’m serious--there’s no way I can continue living in London after Liam has seen me at my worst--”

“I thought it was sweet, actually,” says Liam.

“--at my _worst_ ,” Louis continues. “None of you will ever be able to take me seriously again.”

“Tommo,” says Niall, setting down the bowl of crisps. “We lived in this crap mansion with you for years. We never took you seriously.”

Louis lifts his head up off of Harry and points vaguely at Niall wildly. “You took me seriously enough to put me on Simon’s most wanted list,” he says shrilly. “You arse--”

The children around him perk up; Harry maybe grabs his hand like a vice; Louis visibly swallows--

“--Arsenal fan,” he finishes lamely. “Um.”

“Yeah, never took you seriously, Lou,” says Niall. “Not even when you were wanted for murder.”

“Especially when you were wanted for murder,” says Zayn primly, since he’s the only one who can, as he was around Louis for most of his wanted-for-murder-definitely-on-the-run period.

Liam starts nodding along and when Louis turns to glare at him, just makes a vaguely apologetic face. ‘Sorry,’ he mouths.  

Louis just crosses his arms and settles more firmly into Harry’s side.

Harry wraps himself around him more soundly and hides a smile in the crown of his head. “I took you seriously,” he says quietly.

Louis shifts around so that he can stare up at him. “Yeah but you love me,” he says. “You don’t count.”

Harry wants to say something like that should mean he counts most, but his traitor heart is still stuck somewhere off dancing about the fact that Louis’ gone and said it like that. So straightforward and without any of the old fear.

He’s about to kiss him, only before he can, he door to the mansion comes crashing open and a very angry crowd of Tomlinsons come storming in.

“You know who else loves you?” says Jay, carrying twins with both hands while Daisy and Phoebe giggle at her feet.

“Oh my god,” says Louis, scrambling to get off of Harry’s chest. “Hazza hide me.”

“Hide you,” continues Jay, shifting Doris around a little so that she can better glare.

Behind her, Dan is definitely smirking and Lottie looks like Christmas has come early. Or maybe not Christmas, since Christmas is Louis’ birthday.

Harry frowns a little but doesn’t let go of Louis.

“Hide you!” repeats Jay. “Lewis William Tomlinson--!”

“Agh, mum, I told you never to call me that--”

“ _Boo Bear_ \--!” says Jay.

“ _Mum_!” shrieks Louis, bright red in the face.

And then Harry has to let go of him, if he doesn’t want to end up on the bottom of a Tomlinson-Deakin puppy pile, which over the course of the telling off and the crying and the kissing and finally the hugging, shifts to encompass Harry, Niall, Liam, and Zayn as well.

The younger children have moved off in favor of playing amongst themselves, their professors are hovering around the edges somewhere out of sight, and Harry has Liam’s foot in his stomach, Niall’s hair in his mouth, Zayn’s bloody hand on his arse, and Louis Tomlinson in his eyes.

Life’s pretty darn great. Even if he did accidentally make himself a nemesis at age five.

As if he’s gone and read his mind, Louis turns away from his still tearful mum to peck Harry on the lips. “He wasn’t a real nemesis, Hazza,” he says quietly. “Like maybe half a nemesis.”

Harry just shakes his head at him and tackles him into the sofa. “It’s okay, Boo Bear,” he says, gleeful at the look on Louis’ face. “You’re the only nemesis for me.”

Louis just reaches out and twists both of his nipples, eyes playful and sharp, and then just doesn’t let go.

“Okay, that’s our cue to go,” says Lottie, sounding far too knowing for her young years-- _Lottie_ , Harry and Louis’ equally horrified expressions scream into the mild pause-- “Love you, big brother. Keep in touch next time you decide to become a super villain, yeah. And maybe make sure Harry can still walk tomorrow. I like him.”

And like, the nipple thing is kind of important, Harry thinks, but it can wait, because Louis’ baby sister has just gone off about Harry _being able to walk tomorrow_.

Harry isn’t sure what’s better--Lottie’s expression when she realizes that all of One Direction is coming for her, or Louis’ when he catches Harry’s eyes over the top of her head.

‘Love you,’ Louis mouths, when he’s certain Harry is staring back at him.

“Love you more,” Harry says out loud; there’s no competition; Louis’ face at _that_ , is the best thing in the whole world.

**\--**

**Final Issue: End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Play-by-play of section 1, with bonus spoilers:** So our villain of the day is Ben Winston, who once upon a time got caught plagiarizing work by little Harry Styles, who was at X-Factor with Gemma b/c Gemma was thinking of going to the school. Anyway, Ben was intimidating someone by use of his powers and forcing them to write his assignments or something, and little Harry was like that’s bad and shouted ‘no’ at him and accidentally. Took away Ben’s powers.
> 
> HARRY TOTALLY DID NOT NOTICE/REMEMBER.
> 
> So Harry wakes up in a warehouse and Ben Winston is preparing to electrocute him and Louis is there not tied up and Harry has no idea what’s going on. Cue monologuing, a slow reveal that torture is eminent, and basically, Ben woke up one day with his powers half back. And since then he’s hatched a plan to get his powers back for good.
> 
> His plan: torture Harry so that Louis freaks out and absorbs Ben’s powers right back to the surface. Essentially, he thinks that if Louis is put under enough stress, he’ll be able to haul Ben’s powers out of Ben and into himself.
> 
> THIS ACTUALLY WORKS. (Who knew, right, like Ben Winston.) Only Louis sort of freaks out and ends up shifting into Ben Winston b/c he has no idea how to work with Ben’s powers and Ben is the only thing he’s looking at.
> 
> So Harry is forced to touch the two of them, thus preventing Louis from killing Ben, which allows Ben to fuck off away to do more villain-y things. You’re good for skipping to section break number 1, now. (Text is ' **When he opens his eyes** ')
> 
> The rebloggable finished masterpost is [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/132624877230/title-my-love-is-a-fortress-my-love-is-a-louvre) on my tumblr. (Nothing makes me happier than you all reblogging that.) I hope you all enjoyed the journey that was my Superheroes AU. Let’s agree to never speak about the months long hiatus.


End file.
